


The Long Haul

by MsMoon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adorkable Virgins, Alienage Life is Hell - Freeform, Angst, Antivan Massage, Banter, Campfire Bonding, Consensual Sex, Doing anything takes forever, Drinking Games, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mabari, Mabari are Wonderdogs, Mages and Templars, Mages and Templars Persecute Each Other, Making Babies, Multi, Multiple Parties, Multiple Wardens, Past Sexual Assault, Rape Recovery, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Cake Is A Lie, Where's your Andraste Now?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMoon/pseuds/MsMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all assumed being conscripted would not make life easier, but none of them had a choice. Now, they have to stick together with a rag-tag group of allies just to stay alive. Oh, and somehow stop the blight, and a power-mad teyrn that's out to vilify them.... and get over all the butterflies. Damn, persistent butterflies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Absence of Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I feel the need to apologize. I've been putting off writing this, because I keep thinking, "No, I'll get busy, and then I won't be able to post" or "Maybe if I could keep to a regular schedule"...but if I keep thinking that, then I'll never write. And I really want to. Even if the chapters are spaced out and not regularly updated (but I'll try to keep to my schedule!). 
> 
> Secondly, I'm posting this for myself. I have all these ideas about Dragon Age and all these wonderful feels from playing the games... and I don't want to let that go :)
> 
> But now, I'll just stop and post the first chapter -..-'

Stone wasn’t always cold. Míriel had read about how some stones would absorb the sun’s light and radiate heat till well into the night. As she stood, staring out the tiny window, she was aware of the absence of heat. Not so much of the cold, just the absence of heat. She had lived in this tower long enough that she’d forgotten to feel the cold. She wondered, and not for the first time, if the cold outside the tower would be like the cold within.

 

“Míriel?” The inquisitive tone made her turn away from the tiny portal to the outside world. “Uh, I-I’m sorry, Surana.” He self-corrected. Again. No matter how many times she told him it was perfectly acceptable, that no one would judge _him_ harshly for speaking informally to her, he always corrected himself. 

 

Míriel smiled softly. “You can call me Míriel, Cullen.” She said stepping more towards him. “You let me call you ‘Cullen’, after all.” She wondered if this would be the last time they would open on this. Would he ever just call her by her name casually? Probably not. Not now. 

 

Cullen shuffled—very quietly considering the heavy armor he was wearing. His expression wilted as he swallowed harshly. “I’ve heard…many things.” He began, and her expression sobered. “I know which I don’t believe, but I… I was hoping I could hear from you—”

 

“It’s why I’m here. They’ve only given me a few moments to gather my things.” She glanced askance to the imposing woman that was somehow intimidating one of the templar guards standing watch several yards to their left. Maker bless her, she’d given them as much privacy as she could without giving herself away as shleffing off as a proper ‘escort’.

 

“Some people are saying that you were consorting with a blood mage to overthrow the circle.” Cullen grumbled miserably.

 

“What??” Míriel’s tone was a harsh whisper, as though she somehow thought the worst of the tower gossip would spare her for her commendable record. One bad association was enough to damn anyone, it seemed. No circumstance, character, or intention was safe from the rumor mill.

 

“Others are saying that you fought off a blood mage from such a plot, and the final consensus is that you’re impeccable skills have earned you a place in the army to the south with the mages who have already departed.” Cullen’s eyes rose to her’s morosely. “All of them involve you leaving the tower.”

 

Míriel stared into his eyes, and without even wanting it to happen… it all just poured out. “Jowan and Lilly. They found out that Jowan was going to be made Tranquil and planned an escape.” She informed. Cullen stood up straighter. The shock no doubt. “I went to the first Enchanter and begged him not to do that to Jowan, but he said it was unavoidable. Set in motion already. Could not be undone.” Míriel swallowed hard. “He instructed me to submit myself into whatever plan they were concocting so that I could relay it to him and then he could inform Greagoir.” She said bleakly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Cullen insisted. “Jowan and Lilly know better, or knew better. You were making certain they wouldn’t get away with breaking the rules. Following orders.”

 

“Except that Jowan lied; he _is_ a blood mage. He attacked everyone but Lilly with blood magic, and then he ran. And now he’s out there somewhere, and Maker knows what will happen to Lilly—she may be sent to Aeonar. And for my service I am to become a Grey Warden, though I’m certain Greagoir will find nothing satisfying.” Her shoulders wilted. She was barely even aware of some of the gasps she heard from the room beyond the door. No doubt there was an entire chorus-line of mages and underlings lined up to relay the conversation. This tower had eyes and ears, and yet its occupants were always so shocked and surprised by the goings-on. “It’s so fast, and all of it so extreme… it doesn’t seem real.” She was only partially aware of the flex of Cullen’s throat as he swallowed. The man had a nice jaw. And neck. And everything, really. She suddenly felt guilty at being allowed to leave the tower at all, impending Warden-hood notwithstanding. As though somehow she was abandoning Cullen and Jameson and Niall and the others to languish for nothing while she went on to the horizon. She heard the woman that had arrived with Duncan clear her throat, which helped stop the impending quicksand of self-pity. “I don’t… have a lot of time. We have to go.” 

 

“We…uh… we could…write?” Cullen stammered. He was cute when he stammered.

 

Míriel smiled, somehow less aware of the sadness of the situation. Cullen had a way of doing that. Offering to listen to her talk, putting up with nonsense he didn’t understand, trying to bridge a gap that made her feel lost and alone. It didn’t mean the situation wasn’t still sad, she was just less aware… Not too unlike her tolerance to the cold, she supposed.

 

“You’ll write to me? Really?”

 

He shrugged, shifting before smirking. “I can _try_.”

 

“As long as you promise to write Mia first. She’s probably always going to be over-due for some correspondence.” Míriel smiled, happy that they could at least end here on a good note. He was nodding, but both of them were unable to say more as the woman cleared her throat again.. Louder this time. “I have to go.” She said. Cullen seemed at a loss for words, just standing there against the wall as he usually did, so Míriel decided to try and be brave. She stood on tip-toe and carefully kissed the scruff of his cheek. The man froze, staring at her in shock once she drew away. She tried for a sincere smile—not sad! She always looked sad—before turning and murmuring over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Cullen.”

 

She and her ‘Guards-Woman’ had taken a few steps in tandem before she heard the still-stunned reply.

 

“Goodbye, Míriel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's my beginning :) See you next week (*crosses fingers*).


	2. Compensation Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fog of sadness is clearly being replaced with a fog of confusion....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the week is done, and I think this chapter.... is about as finished as I could get it :)
> 
> Firstly, I wanna thank Leigh_B for beta-ing my work (is beta-ing a term that's real now, or is it only something in our vernacular?). She has awesome stuff that everyone should check out o..o seriously, there's a wow fic, and a modern AU inquisition fic, and this fantastic Avaar fic. Check 'em out :3 You won't be sorry.
> 
> Thanks also to BurningLizard for your comment :) Comments are always encouraging.

Cold came in different flavors. It wasn’t the first thing she’d discovered on the long boat ride across the lake, but it was the one that she forced herself to notice. Mostly because it was the first thing she’d wondered about before leaving. At least, the first thing that was safe. Technically, the first thing she’d noticed were the smells, wet sod and stone with a dash of cut onions. At least, those were the smells she was aware of; there were half a dozen she couldn’t put a name to! The sun had been blindingly bright, and it had taken her eyes quite a while to adjust to the overabundance of light. During that time she’d trusted her ‘Guards-Woman’ to nudge and guide her. This paralysis didn’t bother her half so much as her sensitivity to light. Besides…Míriel knew what grass and rock and sky looked like, of course. She didn’t feel overly disappointed in her inability to focus on anything but the passing ground and the back of the Guards-Woman’s feet. 

“How’re your eyes?” this question came from the Guards-Woman as they were approaching the horses. 

“Ah. Still adjusting, I’m afraid.” Míriel murmured almost contritely. She didn’t see the woman’s face pinch in distaste, but if she had…well, it probably would have only made her want to apologize more.

“I’ll tether your horse’s reigns to mine, then.” She said before setting about to do so.

“I’m sure I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now.” Duncan said as sympathetically as possible. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since the forceable conscription. Míriel would not raise her head…and only partially because she felt it wasn’t her place. Her eyes were still so sensitive. It would certainly account for the stinging and redness….right? If she had been at her most observant, she would have noticed the way he had been watching her the entire time he’d been at the tower. Even when he’d been drawn into debates with Greagoir, his eyes had been on her. She had noticed only that he maintained fierce eye contact when she’d been introduced to him….just as he was doing right now. At the time, that hadn’t merited more thought for her. Míriel considered herself an excellent student, but relatively average in most respects… certainly not important enough to draw any interest from a senior Grey Warden. As she tried to process everything that had happened in the last few days, she still couldn’t fully comprehend how any of this had happened. Had it been her dire circumstances alone? Had that been all Duncan needed to snatch her up as a conscript? It was dizzying to even try…

“I am… uncertain I can comprehend it all.” Míriel said, eyeing a particular outcropping of rock by the docks. “I’ll try to adjust quickly.” She doesn’t see Duncan’s smile or the look he and the Guards-Woman traded.

“I’m certain you will. Maker knows there will be plenty of time for it on the road to Ostagar.” 

“Ostagar…” Míriel’s voice trailed in an almost dreamy fashion as she searched her mind for information she’d read. “South east of here. Lothering, the Imperial Highway south, skirting past the Hinterlands.” 

Duncan and his companion both eyed her, though Duncan shrugged it off more easily. “You’ve studied your geography.”

“I’ve studied everything I could.” Míriel said. “I find it easier to remember things if I read them.” 

“Have you read extensively on the topic?” Duncan asked.

“And exactly how detailed is the memory of what you’ve read?” was his companion’s question.

Míriel’s eyes raised a notch as she pictured the book in her mind, her eyes scanning back and forth as though she were re-reading from its pages. “Ostagar. A former Tevinter garrison established to watch for signs of invasion by the Chasind Wilder Barbarians. Straddling a narrow pass in the hills, the fortress kept the Chasind from the fertile lowlands of the north, being exceedingly difficult to attack due to its naturally defensible position. Like most southern Imperial holdings, Ostagar was abandoned after Tevinter’s collapse during the First Blight. It was sacked from the south at least once, but the Chasind threat has dwindled since their defeat by the hand of Hafter after the second blight, and no troops have been stationed in the area for centuries - though most of the walls still stand, as does the Tower of Ishal which is named after the Archon who ordered its construction. Ostagar remains a testament to the power of the Tevinter Imperium. Notation: The Imperial Highway ends at Ostagar; it is the southernmost point of this construct.” Míriel blinked rapidly before lowering her eyes again. “Something like that, anyway.” She waited, trying to appear at ease. Most people did not enjoy her talent for memorization. She had read, re-read, written, and re-written almost everything she could get her hands on, and…well…it served her well. 

“Damn.” The Guards-Woman said, drawing near to Míriel’s side. “Bet that’ll come in handy on the nights when we’re restless and want a story before we sleep.” 

Míriel was so surprised by this reaction, her eyes rose to the speaker. The woman looked as imposing as she always had, but Míriel noticed the things she’d never noticed before. When they’d first met, Míriel had been captivated by her formidable presence. The way she carried her shoulders back and her chest forward even in such heavy armor, and the critical evaluation of her eyes. But this woman… She was…warm. There was no other word for it. Her skin was a soft tan, her hair trimmed at her jaw line and a fine black. Though her face was heart-shaped, it didn’t diminished the strength of her jaw…her lips were plump and pink and perfect, at least they’re what Míriel imagined every woman wanted her lips to look like. She doubted this was the sort of woman to wear cosmetics, which meant those luscious lips were naturally that shade. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green teal that Míriel had ever seen. And they are warm and welcoming… the eyes of an older sister perhaps? 

In spite of her circumstance, Míriel smiled softly at her in return. “Do you hope I can bore you to sleep with geography?” 

“You said you studied everything you could.” The woman reminded. “I doubt geography is the only thing up there.” She smirked. She leaned heavily to one side to snatch at one of the reins that had fallen, and her thick hair parted revealing…. Pointed ear tips….

“Ya….You’re an elf!” Míriel chirped, mouth gaping. She shook her head, screwing her eyes shut before blinking rapidly. Her eyes refocused, and those ear tips were still pointed.

“I am.” The women confided with a conspiratorial smirk. 

“I…Bu….Do they allow elves into the City Guard?” Míriel’s eyes swiveled to Duncan, who seemed quietly amused at this exchange. The woman barked out a laugh.

“What makes you think I’m in the City Guard?”

“Y-you’re wearing a shield with the heraldry of Denerim, and your armor is…it’s relatively high grade. Well..” She reexamined the armor now that she wasn’t scanning only the ground. “It’s decent. It’s…I suppose it’s standard issue.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose, a tiny smirk tugging at her full lips. “You study armor as well do you?”

“Cloth, leather, iron, steel, veridium, silverite…in rare cases dragonbone and volcanic aurum…distinctions fall between types of leather, iron and steel and you…” Míriel surveyed the leather that the not-Guards-Woman-who’d-been-guarding-her. “You are wearing iron chainmail… very standard issue quality, no doubt every city guard gets a set, and your shield…your shield bears the crest of Denerim. How… elves never get armor that good. How did you…”

Crista smirked. “Compensation prize.”

“I… I think you mean consolation prize.”

“No.” Crista said with a firm shake of her head, still smirking. “I was right the first time.” She looked at Duncan. “This walking, talking, tome of knowledge is going to come in handy.” 

“Quite.” Duncan said measurably impressed. “I imagine your knowledge will be as useful as any of your other abilities.” He looked to the woman at Míriel’s right before continuing. “By the way, this is Crista Tabris.” He said motioning to the Guards-Woman that Míriel was glad to no longer need to call Guards-Woman because she wasn't. a. Guards-Woman. She just...always looked like she was guarding something (or someone in Míriel's case). “Crista, this is Míriel Surana. The two of you should get to know one another as you are the most recent among the Grey Warden recruits.” 

“It’s a pleasure.” Míriel said reflexively with a nod. She was still baffled and probably looked very disoriented… her question hadn’t been answered…had it? No. No it hadn’t. What in the name of everything holy was she missing?

“Likewise.” Crista said, with a playful half-smile. Her expression seemed more experienced than amused now… something in the way that she carried herself had changed. Her shoulders were rolled back, her posture relaxed…she was still smirking, but her eyes seemed slightly more…weary. Their eyes met and somehow Míriel understood that the circumstances leading to Crista’s conscription were probably no more ‘a pleasure’ than her’s had been.

“Are the horses ready?” Duncan asked, though Míriel suspected it was more of a formality to ask as even she (who’d never been around a horse in her life) could see that the horses were standing right there, at the ready.

“They are. We’re good to go.” Crista said. She shadowed Míriel to the last horse in the line of three, a buckskin. Perhaps a little over 14 hands high, which was average and yet still Míriel looked tiny in comparison. She knew the horse was hers because its reins were fastened to the saddle horn of the horse in front of her. Míriel felt as though she must have looked like some strange bird, hopping about on one foot just to get one foot into the stirrup. Crista helped to steady her, and even gave her a boost so that she didn’t waste all that effort only to fall on her face. Míriel was grateful for Crista’s assistance. She had a feeling she’d be even more grateful for Crista during the times when she needed more specific darkspawn-related aid. Once properly seated, Míriel situated her pack and pretended not to notice when Duncan quietly ducked to Crista’s side. 

“You’ll watch out for her, won’t you?” Duncan asked. “It’s probably been years since she left that tower.” 

“Of course.” Crista said, not only with defensive certainty, but something that Míriel couldn’t quite place. It was a type of protectiveness that she wasn’t quite accustomed to… at least, that’s what she assumed it could be. It’s hard to imagine why this woman would be protective of her at this point when they’ve only just met. Still, any support is better than none. Crista mounted her horse, a dark palomino with white blaze and stockings, and Duncan took his horse as well (another palomino, but this one a paint). 

“We’ll start out slowly, so that we can teach you as we go.” Duncan clarified as Crista untied the reigns of Míriel’s horse and handed them back to her. 

“I… I’ve read a bit on horsemanship, but…” she said eyeing the reigns, one in either hand, dubiously. “It’s not something they allow us to practically learn.”

“No worries there.” Crista said, her voice deep and comforting to match her eyes. “It’s a long way to Ostagar, and we can afford to go slow now. You’ll be proficient in no time.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Míriel said, observing the way Crista held her reigns and trying to mimic the technique. She knew Ostagar was far, but she needed to be an asset to them. Not a burden. No matter what Greagoir said, she was a Mage of the Circle of Kinloch Hold, and she would serve to the utmost of her ability.


	3. Those Conscripts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm back :) Took a while today. Busy day at school. Busy busy busy -..- Big thanks to fell_on_black_days for your comment. Comments are the tiny food pellets that send me round and round and round on my little wheely-thingy.
> 
> Now! On to this week's chapter! In which Míriel learns a little more about Crista...
> 
> "I killed an arls son for raping my friend. So, perhaps I’m not the greatest judge of morale…Or…am I?"

Míriel groaned as she slid off the horse’s back and hobbled to catch up with Duncan and Crista. How could they be so spry? The ruins of Ostagar had been impressive from afar, but now…it seemed like another broken promise. She could faintly smell grilling meat and hear dogs barking. Even after this much travel, her eyes were still sensitive.

She didn’t notice that she was about to run into Crista until she realized the back of the warrior’s heels weren’t moving. Somehow, Crista side-stepped, allowing Míriel to stop, her shoulder resting against Crista’s breastplate. That was one sharp fighter’s sense Crista had. It wasn’t the first time Míriel had noticed it either.

“King Cailan? I didn’t expect—”

“A royal welcome?” 

Míriel’s eyes widened in shock, which she instantly regretted. The King’s golden armor was almost painful to look at…not because it was gauche or ridiculous, but because it was so…so shiny and bright. She looked away as Cailan and Duncan spoke, catching Crista’s bored expression. How could she be bored?? This man was their King… And, from what she understood, Crista had actually lived in Denerim…then again, she was probably confined to the Alienage…But still! She should understand how important he was.

“Are these your new recruits?”

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.” 

“No need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all.” The King said as he walked over to stand before Míriel. Oh Maker… he was looking at her. Míriel felt her entire body freeze up as the King’s eyes docked on her. Even his charming smile did not help.“Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?”

Say. Something.

“Míriel. I am Míriel, your Majesty.”

“Pleased to meet you!” He said cordially. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I for one, am glad to help them.” He appraised her staff almost glancingly. “I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?”

“I will do my best, of course.”

“Excellent. We have too few mages here, another is always welcome.” Míriel felt that sinking spiral of doubt gnawing at her spine. What if her spells and knowledge weren’t good enough? 

Míriel felt her head bowing as he frame sagged. “You’re too kind, your Majesty.” Míriel was only too happy to flitter back behind Crista’s side.

“And your other companion?” Míriel couldn’t help but be jealous of Crista’s impervious posture and eye contact.

“I am Crista, your Majesty.”

“Pleased to meet you. I see you’re an elf, Friend.”

“Guilty as charged.” Crista said smoothly, and the King’s smile seemed to deepen at her response.

“From where do you hail?”

“The city of Denerim, Sire.”

“As do I! Though I’ve not been in the palace for some time.” His face grew somewhat concerned. “Do you come from the alienage? Tell me how is it there? My guards all but forbid me going there.” 

Both eyebrows rose as she considered her words before answering. “I killed an arls son for raping my friend.”

Míriel’s mouth dropped open, her face frozen in surprised shock as she stared blankly at the chain mail links covering Crista’s side.

“So, perhaps I’m not the greatest judge of morale…” Crista's eyes narrowed just slightly as she eyed some unseen point on the horizon. “Or…am I?” 

“You….what?” Evidently King Cailan was surprised as well. 

“Your Majesty, I would not have put it so bluntly, but there are events in Denerim you should be aware of.”

“So it seems.” The King said, his dumbfounded stare now gracing Duncan instead of Crista. Crista, who had not flinched or changed tone through the entire event, met his gaze at it returned to her. “I will hear more about this matter later.” His attention turned back to Crista and Míriel as a pair. “Allow me to be the first to welcome the two of you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.” Míriel wondered if Cailan was saying this to be cordial, or because he honestly assumed Crista’s fighting prowess must be good if she could manage to kill an Arl’s son.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Crista said so magnanimously, Míriel could almost believe that she had been raised noble-born….to be perfectly honest, she was a little jealous. Did this confidence come naturally, or was she just that good at faking it?

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his speeches.” Míriel’s heart suddenly fluttered. Loghain Mac Tir? The legendary rebel leader who’d fought for Maric Theirin? The man who’d formed and lead the Night Elves, the guerrilla squad of elven archers who’d struck fear into the Orlesians? The Teryn of Gwaren…was here? She suddenly felt a little more relaxed about the coming battle… now if only she could feel more relaxed about Crista’s past…

“Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliff’s forces could be here in less than a week.”

Míriel lost track of the King’s words, staring slowly up at Crista. She’d read much over the history of the Grey Wardens. While the Blights and battles fought were detailed, the Order and its practices were still steeped in mystery. What was known was that Grey Wardens often sacrificed their lives to battle darkspawn…and that they were often conscripted criminals. This wasn’t to say that people didn’t volunteer for this heavy task, but the gravity of their duty seemed to balance out even the most violent personalities. During their brief journey, Crista had been kind to Míriel. Not in a smarmy or cloying way; she’d simply been considerate. Míriel wondered if that was what she’d needed to see or if that’s what was… Could Crista be one of the hardened conscripts she’d once read about?

Then again, who was she kidding? She was also one of ‘those conscripts’. 

Unfortunately she’d lost sight of everything Duncan and the King had been saying. Though… it seemed Crista could keep up appearances and continued to trade niceties. She trotted after Duncan and Crista after the King had departed. She was distracted again, this time by the architecture of Ostagar. Even as a ruin, it was impressive. If this was early Tevinter architecture she wondered how modern Tevinter architecture had evolved. This place, though covered in years of dirt and disrepair, was still quite striking and obviously sturdy. 

Crista did that thing again, the thing where she effortlessly moved out of the way without so much as a glance back to Míriel’s direction. Míriel wasn’t complaining. It saved her from having permanent facial scares in the shape of Crista’s armor Her shoulders were once again square with Crista’s breastplate. She finally started paying attention to what Duncan was saying…except now he wasn’t saying anything. Oh dear…

“Understood.” Crista said with such finality that Míriel found herself nodding. Duncan gave them a small smile before turning to head off in his own direction.

“So.” Míriel began, staring at the bridge. “Ostagar is impressive.”

“Mhm.” Crista hummed, surveying the high towers and crumbling walls with the briefest glance. “You didn’t catch a word of what Duncan said, did you?” 

Míriel’s cheeks puffed with excess air that then filtered noisily through her teeth. Crista tended to like the bluntest of truths…So.

“I don’t know that I heard much of anything after your comment to the king.”

A soft snort was her reply. Crista eyed the bridge in front of them. “Do we need to talk about it?”

Míriel’s eyebrows rose. “Do we?” she asked, receiving a soul searching look from Crista… even after all the effort it took to sound neutral. Míriel met her gaze, amazed that she could manage such a thing without fainting dead away. Crista looked down the length of the bridge, taking a deep breath through her nose and letting it out slow. Her brow turned downward and her eyes and jaw seemed to harden. Míriel almost wanted to reach out to her…comfort her somehow.

“No.” Crista said at last, making Míriel stand a little straighter. “Every time I try to think about it… I still can’t without feeling the same fury.” Míriel observed Crista’s face—her clenched jaw and controlled breaths, and the livid jumping of the pulse point at her neck.

“I’m sorry.” She said softly. Crista’s eyes came to her’s again, softening. Her shoulders wilted a fraction as she released a weary breath. 

“Thanks…” she murmured before nudging Míriel with her hip. “Hey. What about you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were conscripted too.” Crista reminded. “I don’t know all the specifics, but I know you were sad.”

“I always look sad.” Míriel tried to placate. “Everyone says I have constant sad eyes.” Crista stared at her, her head cocked to the side as a tiny grin began tugging at the edge of her lips. “But yes. Being ostracized for obeying my superior’s orders was disheartening.” Now it was Míriel’s turn to sigh. “Not nearly as hurtful as being instructed to betray my dearest friend…who…turned out to be a blood mage.”

“Ouch.” Crista grimaced.

“Indeed.” Míriel murmured, blinking rapidly in hopes her watering eyes would not leak.

“Whelp.” Crista grumbled, rolling her shoulders. “Best be making our way.” She strode out leisurely, sauntering down the length of the bridge.

“Right…” Míriel said slowly as she trotted to keep pace with Crista. “Exactly what should we be doing?”

Crista chuckled. “Oh, you know. Familiarizing ourselves with Ostagar, and finding some Warden named Alistair.”

“Ah… I know some of the mages from my circle are here. I’d like to see if I could speak with them.”

Crista was nodding. “Sure. Sure. Stick with me, kid. I’ll learn ya something.”

“Teach.” Míriel corrected automatically, but stopped short. “Sorry.” She said as Crista stared at her with an arched eyebrow. “Old habits.”

Crista only smiled. “Let’s go poke around and find this Alistair guy.” She sighed. “I just hope he’s not an asshole.”

“Certainly not…” Míriel reproached. “He’s a grey warden.”

“Right.” Crista drawled. “S’not like Grey Wardens are people capable of being assholes.” Míriel thought about that for a moment before nodding.

“Fair play, there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I shall have to play about with perspectives soon....


	4. Going High and Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is an experiment with past tense and Alistair pov :)
> 
> Otherwise known as, oh hey, it's Morrigan ya'll.

Alistair had been impressed. They had barely been out here for the span of the day, and it only took about three skirmishes to find their rhythm…though it had only taken one good fight with a pack of wolves straight out of the gates for that rhythm to be set forth. And he wasn’t fooled. He understood the pecking order. After the great wolf fight of 9:30, he’d noticed the little mage with sad eyes quietly whispering to the elf shield girl- Míriel and Crista, he’d remembered. After a few minutes, Crista had returned to the group.

“Alright, listen up.” She had barked, making even him wince. “Way I see it, we can keep blundering through or we can utilize this groups’ strengths.” Alistair’s eyes had skittered between Crista and Míriel. “Jory, you’re going to be with me; first wave. If there’s a threat coming at the group, we’re going to get in its face until it doesn’t have a face.” Jory had winced, and at the time Alistair had thought it due to her wording. He’d found out later that it didn’t really take much to make Jory wince.

“Daveth, Bral, you are going to be our hamstring pullers.” Crista had continued, addressing the two thieves directly.

“Sounds lovely.” Daveth had snarked— it was nothing personal, Daveth snarked a lot. Bral had just smirked at Crista without sassing off. The red-headed dwarf rarely ever spoke…unless there was a sexual joke to be made. It was easy for him to forget she was even there. Which was scarier than the strange markings on her face, considering the fact that she specialized in killing things from the shadows.

“Shut it.” Crista had grunted. “If we’re facing a single unit that’s more than happy to focus on Jory n’ me, your jobs are to get behind them and slice apart the hamstrings, and that tendon above the heel. Or backstab. Or side stab. Or anywhere stab, smash, or crunch. If there are archers or casters, you do that to them before you worry about whoever we’re fighting. Preferably, you’d draw as little attention to your movements as possible while you’re doing that.”

“You go high. I’ll go low.” Bral had said to Daveth, extending her tiny arm for a fist bump.

“I just bet you do.” Daveth had said.

“Shut it.” Crista grunted, again. Crista grunted a lot. “Ben, you’re our sniper. You and Míriel will hold the back line and offer support— first to Daveth and Bral, then as they drop ‘em, you’ll support me and Jory.” Ben had nodded his agreement, not even mussing a single sandy brown hair…then again, the sides were so tightly pulled back, and there was what looked like four years of gunk holding his hair in place. The man was a good fighter with serious archer muscles, but he was very quiet. Alastair had met him a few days ago when he and Bral had shown up together—sent ahead by Duncan who was en rout to Denerim at the time. He hadn’t seen Ben leave Bral’s shadow (at times, even carrying the dwarf on his back)…he also had never heard the man speak. It was…unnerving. He just seemed so solemn and focused.

“And exactly why are you in a position to give orders?” Leave it to Jory to ask the question.

“You hear of the chain of command?” Crista had asked, her eyes still ahead. Jory began shaking his head, but before he could open his mouth (which often ran away with itself), she’d pinned him under her vivid teal gaze. “It’s the chain I beat you with till you understand who’s in ruttin’ command.”

The group was quiet. So quiet you could hear the marsh. Not the animals in the marsh, mind. Sure you could hear those. But at this point you could hear the water soaking into the mud. That quiet.

“Well done.” Alistair had admitted. “Though, I think you may’ve forgotten someone.” He grinned at her expectantly.

Crista’s eyes had narrowed, an edgy tension radiating from her body. It had been Míriel who had diffused the situation, which only proved Alistair’s earlier conclusion to be true. Her willowy form wafted to Crista’s side very nearly unnoticed.

“I don’t know about you, Crista,” She’d begun. “but I really don’t feel comfortable presuming authority over a Grey Warden when I myself am only a recruit.”Míriel had smiled at him, and for once her sad grey-blue eyes didn’t seem so cold. Or maybe Alistair had just gotten marginally better at reading her. “I know I’m thankful you were sent to watch out for us.”

Crista had nodded, regrouping without any obvious flailing. “Right.” She half grunted, her tone softening slightly. “You do whatever suits you. This isn’t your proving ground.”

…Maybe no one else had noticed it, but Alistair was certain that it wasn’t Crista who was in charge here. She was the sword and shield everyone would pay attention to. But it was Míriel who was the brains here…though she had the brains for it (obviously), he still thought she didn’t look or think like a mage. He knew she’d never been out of her tower, never seen combat or worked in a group…but her reflexes were quick and her instincts spot on… and her sense of humor was a little twisted.

Like, their first actual Dark Spawn fight. The group had handled it almost exactly as Crista had outlined… except Daveth and Jory. Daveth seemed to forget that there were two more archers left before he went to help Crista and Jory with their front line fighters. It ended the front-line fight much quicker, certainly, but that left Bral with Ben and Míriel backing her up against two archers. Not a big deal really. The front line had been decimated, and Bral had proven how slippery she was in combat, finishing off her archer and slipping away before the last archer could react. Of course, Ben nailing that last archer to the ground with arrows certainly helped. Jory left the front line when he saw Daveth, both of them rallying on the last archer… and Bral was just done, more than happy to leave it to them entirely.

At the last second, somewhere between Crista checking on Bral and Daveth and Jory finally finishing off that last archer, Míriel had cast a spell….and upon the killing blow, the archer exploded all over Daveth and Jory. It was a split second decision, made and executed so quickly, that Alistair had barely seen it happen. He was, in fact, more aware of the events that had happened around it than he was of the actual casting.

“Oh no.” Míriel had murmured. “I hope that didn’t hurt.” He tone was less than concerned.

… A mana bomb? Mana bombs were messy but he’d seen skilled casters use their affects only against enemies while allies only had to worry about the…splatter.

“Not at all.” Daveth said, vigorously shaking his head. “Perhaps a kiss to make it better.”

And for the first time ever, Alistair heard Ben speak.

“Don’t be that guy.” He’d grumbled before casually pushing Daveth into a nearby inlet. Daveth hadn’t even put up a fight, really. He was probably more enthusiastic about marsh water than darkspawn eck.

Yes. Alistair had been impressed. Six packs of Darkspawn, another very large pack of wolves, a strange rage demon that had a weird fixation with a pile of stones and ash…and he’d still been impressed. Not only by their skill and teamwork, but also with their compassion for those poor souls they’d met along the way…not all of which were still alive.

But now, Alistair was genuinely worried.

“Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.” He advised hurriedly.

“Oh-hoo. You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” The wild-eyed apostate taunted, flailing her arms dramatically.

“Yes. Swooping….is…. bad.” He drawled, eyes narrowed and face hard as though his words were grave instead of ridiculous.

“She’s a witch of the wilds, she is! She’ll turn us into toads!” Daveth said fidgeting compulsively. It was a little out of character for the otherwise nonplused wise-cracker.

“Witch..of the wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” Alistair ground his teeth when the woman’s golden eyes settled upon Míriel. “Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.”

Again, that soft little smile flickered on the mage’s face. Had this apostate already figured that Míriel was the brains, or was she simply asking her because she was a mage and female?…

“I am Míriel. A pleasure to meet you.” Míriel said with a simple incline of her head…it could almost be interpreted as an aborted bow.

“Now that is a proper civil greeting even here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan.” The witch’s lips quirked in a smile that suggested she knew more than they did. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest; something that is here no longer?”

“‘Here no longer’?” Alistair practically growled. “You stole them didn’t you? You’re…some kind of…sneaky…witch thief!” Alistair noticed Crista slowly rotating to face him with an incredulous look before mouthing the word ‘smooth’…which told him that he didn’t sound half as threatening as he’d prefer or even a forth as smart as he needed to be.

“How very eloquent.” The sneaky-swooping-witch-thief sniffed. “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems.” Alistair felt his shoulders tense up. Duncan was counting on them to retrieve those treaties. This mission was vital, and if they had to fight an apostate, then they would. He had faith in this team. Askant glance to Crista was enough to abate a hasty attack. One last try at diplomacy then. “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

“I will not,” she responded, clearly not overly interested in diplomacy. “for twas not I who removed them.” Oh. “Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

“Then who removed them?” Crista asked, as though the witch would answer a straight forward inquiry.

“Twas my mother, in fact.”

…huh.

“Can you take us to her?” Míriel asked.

Well, that was inconceivable.

“Hm.” The witch hummed almost smug. “There is a sensible request. I like you.”

“I’d be careful.” Alistair said carefully. “First it’s, ‘I like you…’ but then ‘zap!’ Frog time.”

“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will.” Daveth fretted. “Just you watch.”

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest it’d be a nice change.” Jory snapped.

“Follow me, then, if it pleases you.” The witch said as she turned to lead them away. Crista glanced at Míriel, and the two stepped forward almost in sync.

This was going to be a disaster.


	5. Ye Old Hare Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been horendous. Got sick this past weekend, and I had two mid-terms this week. But it all works out...even if I am a day late and a dollar short :3 Please do enjoy.

 

A horse shout and her tiny frame vaulting straight to verticality—quite a feat as she was still encased in her sleeping bag from the waist down. This had been every morning since the left Flemeth’s hut and the newly smoldering ruins of Ostagar. Ben had been the first to catch Míriel as she’d come up from her nightmares, but this time Crista had third watch and she was ready. Arms about the waist and firm, but gentle lock to keep the tiny mage against her (thankfully unarmored) torso.

 

“Easy now. Easy.” Crista crooned as she eased back, slowly dragging Míriel with her. 

 

The tiny mage panted heavily, but was otherwise sedate. She was improving gradually. Day by day, her morning routine was no where near as bad as it had been the first morning. The evening they’d left Flemeth’s hut they’d all been so exhausted…even Míriel (who’d been unconscious the longest) wanted to find shelter and sleep early. She’d woken screaming and crying and flailing herself vertical and into a dead run. Ben had caught her…as in he’d put himself in her path and she took both of them to the ground. He’d held her tight against him and murmured to her till she’d stopped crying. She’d been so apologetic, but Ben wouldn’t even hear it… She had followed that pattern, diminishing by degrees each morning. She was always in a panic upon waking, but she didn’t cry, scream, or try to run…though she did still lunge up. Maybe the only reason she wasn’t trying to get away was because they’d begun to anticipate her routine.

 

“Sorry.” She wheezed against Crista, still tense.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Ben reminded.

 

“Does this happen every morning?” Sten asked, eying the two women huddled together and Ben hovering about them. Crista and Ben glared at him, Ben’s reproach a tad more tired than Crista’s.

 

“It does, but…” Bral lingered, sitting against a tree stump. “Its gotten a lot better.” Alistair brought over a water-skin squatting down as he offered it to Míriel.

 

“Thank you.” She very nearly whispered before drinking. Crista gingerly rubbed up and down on Míriel’s back. “Maybe I should start taking last watch.” She murmured. “At least then I could wake you all up with a ‘good morning’ instead of shrieking.”

 

“We could try that.” Crista said ambiguously. “It might help to get tents…like, to actually have _something_ to sleep under instead of out of the open.” She said eyeing the dwarven merchant’s wagon. She received quite a few hums and nods in response.

 

“It has to be better than a bedroll and morning dew.” Alistair said.

 

“I told you to make sure you were under the trees.” Crista reminded in a tone that rang loudly as ‘I told you so’. 

 

“I _was_ under the tree line!”

 

“Aww.” Bral drawled. “When parents fight it’s the children who suffer.” Leliana snickered behind a delicate hand encased in a cured leather glove, and Ben did his best to suppress a smirk. Sten just stared at Míriel and Crista…Sten wasn’t one big on small talk or jokes though. His attention shifted when what appeared to be the hide of a dead hare sailed through the air and smacked against Ben’s left arm before plopping to the ground. Everyone stared at the tattered animal fur in shock before Morrigan huffed her way to Ben’s side.

 

“Your mangey beast left this in my pack.” She growled evenly. The mabari in question had been staring at the hide along with the lot of them, but barked an affirmative upon the accusation.

 

Ben looked over his shoulder at Bral. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

 

“Cute.” Morrigan spat. “Really? A putrid half eaten hare is not something a woman wants to find in her unmentionables.”

 

Ben quietly murmured to Tholly. “We’ve clearly been going about this the wrong way.”

 

“Wait.” Bral pipped in. “Does that mean you have to … do without those unmentionables? Cause…I gotta be honest, I’m really not seeing a downside.” This earned an expressive eye roll. 

 

“Maker.” Ben muttered, looking a tiny bit shame-faced. “Ah. I could, uh…replace your things or… or wash your things. Maybe fluff them before putting them away…” Morrigan’s head cocked curiously, her lips twitching ever so slightly as a half smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, her eyes…her eyes seeing much too much.

 

“Oh yea.” Bral’s words dripped with honey. “Hey, she could model them for you if you’re buying them for her and all.”

 

“What?” Ben gasped at Bral’s implications. “What! No! No. Nothing like that. I just mean…I-I—” his head swiveled back to Morrigan who looked utterly amused at how abashed he was. “..meant I could give you gold.” 

 

“You don’t want to gaze upon me longingly whilst I twirl about in my unmentionables?”

 

Ben’s entire frame sagged with exhaustion. “Maker, there’s no right answer.”

 

“I could stand to see the twirling.” Bral murmured. Ben swiped at her with no real threat. Not only was she easily capable of side skipping his swing, it was aimed well over her head. 

 

“Lush.” He grunted at her. He straighten, somehow looking bolder as he addressed Morrigan. “I apologize for Tholly….clearly, she wants to look after you in some way. But I’m more than willing to make whatever restitutions you deem necessary.” His attention shifted to Tholly. “Clearly.” He grunted through clenched teeth. “Leaving the labor of your hunt as a surprise to find is _not_ the way to encourage affection in a desired partner.”

 

Tholly sat very still for a moment before snuffling an indignant grunt. An obvious negative response. 

 

“I know. You’re from an older style.” Ben eased into a squat so he’d be at Tholly’s eye level. “But values change with the times. Now, I appreciate the gesture on my part, but we’re going to have to scale it back a bit. We’re Ferelden for fuck’s sake.” Tholly made a resigned almost groaning noise and dejectedly shuffled to sit next to Fred, the other resident Mabari. Fred had been laying down, observing this exchange, but reoriented himself to face Tholly. He seemed almost sympathetic… Tholly only looked over at Morrigan as though her entire world had been shattered. It was times like this when it was a little frightening how intelligent Mabari could be.

 

“You speak more with your hound than anyone.” Morrigan observed.

 

Ben stared up at her before rising slowly which caused Morrigan to shift her perspective, as he was taller than her. “She’s been with me a long time.” Was his answer. “And I like taking care of those that stick around.”

 

“You believe conversation ‘takes care’ of people?”

 

He smiled at her. “It helps when people feel heard… to feel valid.” Morrigan’s eyebrows rose a fraction as she considered his words.

 

“Indeed. Speaking of needing to be heard, we need to discuss our next course of action.” Crista said, all business like. 

 

“I thought… we were going to Redcliffe.” Alistair drawled.

 

“We are.” Crista assured. “But there’s something else we need to go over.”

 

“Oh?” Leliana’s cool voice felt like balm on an angry wound. It soothed the situation…somehow it always did. Which was strange since the woman was the most peculiar brand of lay sister any of them had ever met. 

 

“That man over there.” Crista’s jaw jutted towards the man who’d camped near the dwarves.

 

“What about him?” Alistair asked.

 

“His name’s Levi Dryden. A friend of Duncan’s.” That got Alistair’s attention. He sat up a little straighter and deliberately eyed the man. “He said he and Duncan were supposed to scope out some place called Soldier’s Peak.”

 

“Soldier’s Peak?” Míriel squawked. 

 

“Yeah.” Crista eyed their little mage tome. “What do you know about it?”

 

Míriel closed her eyes. They felt tired, even though the day was just starting, but she needed to search for any relevant information about Soldier’s Peak. 

 

“It’s ancient.” She said. “It’s a Grey Warden base that was built in the middle of the Glory Age several decades after the second blight ended. After the defeat of Zazikel, Warden Commander Gaspar Asturian wanted a fortified headquarters where his forces could train and live. Ferelden was eager to donate gold to the cause, and Soldier’s Peak was the result, dedicated to the Maker in 2:34 Glory. It’s exact location is unknown, though it’s said to be somewhere in Northern Ferelden.”

 

“ _Northern_ Ferelden?” Ben grumbled.

 

“Dryden says he knows where it is. He wants our help.”

 

“Why exactly does he require your help if he knows where it is?” Morrigan asked, skepticism leeching out of her voice.

 

“He’s hoping for redemption.” Crista didn’t even have to be looking to see Morrigan’s eyes roll. “Levi is a descendant of Sophia Dryden—who’s evidently an infamous Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

 

“Dryden…” Míriel murmured, her eyes closed but still moving back and forth even behind her eye lids. “Dryden, Dryden…” Her eyes popped open. “The woman who led a failed rebellion against King Arland.”

 

Crista nodded. “The Dryden name was disgraced after that, and Levi wants to clear that name. Since Sophia Dryden died a Gray Warden, he’s hoping that finding Soldier’s Peak will uncover something that will redeem her.” 

 

Ben snorted in disdain. “I’m sure you know that Redcliffe is in the exact opposite position as ‘Northern’ Ferelden.” He reminded.

 

“We can wait till after we’ve sort things out at Redcliffe. If what that knight said is true, then it sounds pretty bad.” Her eyes scanned the crowd of misfits that now comprised their ‘team’. “But I still think it’d benefit everyone for us to help him.”

 

“How, exactly, does this nug-and-bull venture benefit us?” Bral drawled. “I mean, if we’re going to have to blunder through hill and dale just to—”

 

“Soldier’s Peak?” Crista interrupted. “It’s a hidden and as yet abandoned Grey Warden fortress.” She let that sink in. “We help Levi, escort him safely, deal with any surprises along the way, and we gain access to a largely hidden fortress somewhere in Northern Ferelden… Don’t get me wrong, I’m down to help Redcliffe with whatever is going on with the Arl, but what if our presence makes him an enemy of Logain?” Crista shrugged. 

 

Ben was nodding. “If we were to weaken his position, it would be prudent to have a fall back location… in case.” 

 

Míriel’s eyes had moved skyward. “Redcliffe is very close to lake Calenhad.” She murmured quietly. “We can move north from Redcliffe, and depending on where Soldier’s Peak is, we can either turn east towards the Bannorn, or West…West would take us closer to the Frostbacks, but if Logain had sent runner scouts, we’d be away from Redcliffe by the time he’d received any word, and the bulk of the lake could shield us physically from any action he could take directly against us.” She stared at her lumpy bedroll. “Even if he divided his forces, they’d still be a big enough group to spot from far away…we could probably loose them if we disguise ourselves well enough.” Sten snorted at that, but Ben was smiling at her. 

 

“We’ll make a strategist out of you yet.” He chuckled. 

 

Míriel smiled bashfully. “It’s mostly logic, really. Unfair to call it by a different name. It sounds much grander.”

 

“So. Redcliffe and then Soldier’s Peak.” Crista finalized. Alistair was nodding. Morrigan looked mollified—not happy, but accepting. Sten did not look happy, but Sten rarely did. Leliana looked serene as ever. 

 

“I do hope the Arl is up to receiving company.” Bral drawled. 

 


	6. Kerfufflers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team of young Grey Wardens encounter unexpected woes in the bowls of Redcliffe Castle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whuf... So, I had midterms and 2 papers due, and this got back-burnered. Sorry about that. Finally, it's Fall Break, so I think this is over-due... and soon I will sleep =..=
> 
> Also, sorry about how depressing this chapter is. There's a lot of Míriel angst in this one, but it was an old wound that needed to be lanced, and...well...Redcliffe's a definite catalyst for that :| I managed to sneak as many chuckles as I could manage.
> 
> Please do enjoy :3

 

The Arl had not been up to receiving company.

 

No one in Redcliffe had been up to receiving company…

 

…Except for maybe the corpses. Oh, they just _rushed_ to greet guests. Crista was about done with _their_ hospitality. The whole lot of them had managed to keep the town up and running. Not only had they shored up the spirits and defenses of the town, they’d also resisted the onslaught of the undead as a stalwart bulwark. The town had survived the night… but, the Arl’s brother was on a harebrained quest thanks to some Orlesian trollop. Crista had left everyone except for the Grey Wardens in the village, and here they were. Covered in grit, smelling of sweat and grime that appeared to be distilled corpse bile and molded hay…..Geh. This _could not_ be it. They’d made it through the night thanks to a lot of preparation, legwork, and (if Crista didn’t say so herself) fantastic battle prowess. And now they were here, in a dungeon fighting more corpses only to stumble across some wimpy mage prisoner who they didn’t even—

 

“Jowan!” Míriel’s cry was sincerely surprised.

 

“By all that’s holy…you! I can’t believe it.” He was still cowering at the back of his cell, but he’d drifted only a step forward, as though he needed to be able to see Míriel more clearly. “Maker’s Breath! How did you get here? I never thought I’d see _you_ of all people.”

 

Míriel only stared at him, first into his eyes and then down the expanse of his tattered and bloody robes and then back to his face again. “Jowan… what did they do to you?” she sounded so hurt on his behalf. Crista instantly began to get suspicious… There had been only one person Míriel had talked about from her time at the Circle…

 

“What they do to all traitors and would-be assassins. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent you to finish me off.”

 

“I’m not here to kill you, Jowan.” Míriel sounded so small when she said it. It crept under Crista’s skin and made her shoulder blades itch.

 

“You might change your mind once you hear. I poisoned the Arl.” He admitted miserably. Míriel flinched. She actually flinched, as though his words had struck her painfully. “For all I know, he’s dead already.”

 

“He isn’t dead…at least…not yet.” Míriel’s voice was tight, guarded. She was rallying. Good.

 

“He’s not?” Jowan asked, sounding as though he could breathe a little easier. “That’s a relief, I can’t tell you how much. Please, I know how it seems. Poisoning the Arl was… a terrible thing. But I’m not behind everything happening here! I swear!” He sighed, wilting again. “Before I say anything else, I need to ask you a question. You can do whatever you feel you need to do afterwards, but I need to know… What became of Lily? They didn’t hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime…” his breath was coming faster at every question. The man would hyperventilate if this kept up.

 

“The Chantry sent her away… I…I don’t know where.” Míriel sounded uncertain, which meant either she was… or she’d managed to get her guard up.

 

“Oh, my poor Lily. She must hate me now, if she even lives. What have I done?” His wailing was starting to grate on Crista’s nerves… Míriel didn’t seem that bothered. Perhaps he was just that type… or maybe he’d just been her friend, and she didn’t care how much he whined. “So here we are again, the two of us. What happens now?”

 

“Jowan,” Míriel began, her voice firm. “Are you responsible for what’s happened?”

 

“I…I know it looks suspicious, but I’m not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I’d done. I thought she meant my poisoning the Arl. That’s the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I’d summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She…had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they…left me here to rot.”

 

“Why did you poison the Arl?” Míriel was being thorough now. Considering how petite she was, it was impressive how firm she seemed. She was in full interrogation mode. 

 

“I was instructed to by Teryn Loghain.”

 

“What!” The thunder resounding suddenly and swiftly through the corridor came from Ben of all people, startling his companions—even Bral. He was breathing quite raggedly, eyes hard as flench as he hissed breath through clenched teeth.

 

“I-I…was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden.”

 

“Lying Nevarran Whoreson.” Ben growled.

 

“I imagine the good Teyrn offered to help you settle back within the circle as well.” Míriel assumed.

 

“All I wanted was to return.” Jowan moaned miserably. “But he abandoned me here, didn’t he?Everything’s fallen apart… I never thought it would end like this.”

 

“It isn’t ‘ended’.” Míriel point out, staring down the corridor at the now-fallen corpses. “Not yet.”

 

“Maker, I’ve made so many mistakes. I disappointed so many people.” He scrubbed his hands down his face which did nothing to help the blood and grit spatted across his skin. “I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything right again.” His hand hesitantly reached towards the bars. Alistair and Ben both tensed as his fingers brushed Míriel’s knuckles.

 

“It’s good to hear you say that.” She murmured, sorrow etched onto the corners of her face.

 

He chuckled humorlessly. “Well…it’s a start, maybe. I don’t know if anything I do could ever make it right.”

 

Míriel leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his fingers. She took a steadying breath, and it appeared to filter through the lot of them. “So… the Teyrn hired you to poison Arl Eamon.” 

 

He let out a heavy sigh. “Connor had started to show …signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of magi would take him away for training.”

 

“Connor? A mage? I can’t believe it!” Alistair murmured gobsmacked. 

 

“She sought an apostate, a mage outside the circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea.”

 

“Motive and opportunity both.” Bral grumbled, shaking her head. “Poor kid.”

 

“Perhaps her son is responsible for what happened.” Míriel said, pensively staring at the stone walls.

 

“I thought that too.” Jowan allowed. “Connor has little knowledge of magic, but he may have done something to tear open the veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn….”

 

“Spirits and demons can infiltrate the castle…killing and then creating walking corpses.” Míriel finished, despising the finality of the situation. Bral was right. This kid didn’t have a chance.

 

“Why exactly would Isolde be upset about her son being a mage?” Crista asked. 

 

“Because he’d be taken away forever.” Jowan answered.

 

“Besides a mage could never inherit a title…even the son of a powerful Arl.” Míriel said with a nod.

 

“Hm.” Crista hummed. “In the alienages, it’s like divine intervention.”

 

“It’s more advantageous for an elf, because all mages are placed at equal footing. Assuming the circle you are in treats its mages decently, you’re life would drastically improve in comparison to the life you would have in an alienage. Equal footing isn't exactly something people of higher society enjoy in practice. Good for an elf…bad for a noble-born.” 

 

“She is also a pious woman.” Jowan informed, wincing slightly. “Her son having magic was…humiliating.”

 

“And Arl Eamon had no idea of his son’s abilities?” Míriel’s brow peaked curiously. 

 

“No.” Jowan’s curt tone cut through any doubt. “She was adamant that he never find out. She said that he’d do the right thing, even if it meant loosing their son. And that infuriated her.”

 

“How much did you teach Connor?” Míriel interjected, attempting to lead them back to the very necessary topic. 

 

“Some.” Jowan’s voice tapered with hesitant disappointment. Míriel knew why. Secret agent for the Teyrn though he was, it hadn’t been enough to keep his heart armored. It was impossible for a bond not to form, especially if Conner had been Jowan’s only apprentice while he was here (and it was pretty obvious that his attention was mostly focused on Connor…when he wasn’t poisoning the Arl, that is). Even under the guise of instructor he would want his pupil to understand, to flourish. “He’s still very young—he can barely cast a minor spell, never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally. Like I said, he may have torn the Veil accidentally. If he’s involved in this at all. I really don’t know.”

 

Míriel only nodded, stepping back to cross her arms, her right hand drifting up to scratch her chin. “I see.”

 

“The Arl’s a decent man. I wondered how he could possibly be the threat Logain said he was, but I did it anyway. I’m such a fool.”

 

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Bral said with perhaps the most ironic shrug ever. 

 

“Mistakes like mine? I’ve just messed everything up. My entire life. I’ve made such bad decisions.”

 

“…Well… yeah. We know.” Bral said, haltingly slow, as if Jowan were simple-minded. “That’s what made it a joke.”

 

“I’m just sick of running away and hiding from what I’ve done. I’m going to try and fix it anyway I can.”

 

Bral looked about at her much taller companions, gesturing towards Jowan in a way that conveyed her absolute bafflement at the man who continued to whine instead of just letting her crack a joke. 

 

“We were friends once.” Jowan began. Míriel’s gaze sharpened in earnest. “I know I don’t deserve to call you that after what I did…” Again, Ben and Alistair were tense. “..if it ever meant anything, please…help me fix this.”

 

“Jowan…I…”

 

“I know, I know you already tried….And I betrayed you. And Lily.” 

 

Alistair and Ben were now simmering in place they were so agitated, their gazes shifting rapidly between Jowan and Míriel. They didn’t like the sound of any of this, and what was worse, they weren’t aware of anything that had happened. Crista was only _barely_ aware, and even she knew it was a powder keg for Míriel. Also, it was pretty obvious that it was going to bear a lot of weight on whatever would happen now. 

 

“I’m sorry, so sorry!” His tone began to rise with anxiety. “Please, I’m begging you! Wont you help me try and do one thing right in my life?” 

 

Míriel seemed so tightly strung…almost paralyzed by the weight of the decision as she considered his words.

 

Ben sighed heavily, covering some of his nerves with a thin veneer of reluctant acceptance. “He won’t be doing anyone any good imprisoned here.” he relented, albeit grudgingly. 

 

“Hey, hey! Let’s not forget he’s a blood mage! You can’t just…set a blood mage free!”

 

Ben only shrugged. “I’m just saying, if he wants to do anyone any good, he can’t do it stuck in there.” 

 

“Redemption’s a sweet story, but—” Bral couldn’t finish. She just shook her head.

 

“Quiet.” Crista’s voice was as decisive as a hammer to an anvil. Her gaze remained on Míriel.

 

“I suppose you know him best.” Alistair relented.

 

“Give me a chance, please!” Jowan pleaded.

 

Míriel was quiet for a time. “So. _How_ will you make this right?”

 

“I’d…well..” He stumbled, visibly shaken with the prospect that he _could_ try. That he may be given the chance to attempt it at all. “I’d try to save anyone still up there. There must be something I can do.”

 

“Helping others…that’s commendable.” Míriel murmured solemnly. 

 

“I’m glad you think so…so… what now?”

 

“I’m letting you out.”

 

“You’re letting me out?” Jowan parroted.

 

“You’re letting him out?” Alistair repeated as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

 

“She’s letting him out.” Crista monotoned back. “And I for one am _fine_ with that.” Crista glared levelly at Alistair. “It’s probably the best decision anyone could make, given the circumstances.” Alistair’s gaze went front and center, not bothering to answer or look at anyone.

 

“And…what then?” Jowan queried, less hesitant and more eager now. 

 

“You are a mage of decent caliber, Jowan. I’d advise you to escape once you’ve aided the villagers however you can.” She stared at him evenly over the bars. “Don’t. Make things. Worse.”

 

“I won’t, I-I promise… I’ll find a way.”

 

“Bral.” Crista grunted, turning away from Míriel and Jowan as Míriel opened the caged door. “I want you to scout ahead. Let us know the lay of the land and if there are traps we need to be advised of.” 

 

“Don’t suppose there’s incentive in it for me.” Bral asked, removing some of that illusive shadow powder from a pocket on her belt.

 

“Incentive?”

 

“Yeah. Like a nice big kiss for the returning hero?” Bral entreated in a delicate sing-song voice, batting her eyelashes.

 

“Sure. Flames, if you make it back and we don’t end up ass deep in trip wire, then I’ll even let you pick who gets to give you that ‘incentive’. Once we’re all back at camp, that is.”

 

“Oh! I do declare! You know how to sweeten a deal.” Bral swooned. “ _Anyone_ back at camp?”

 

“Yeah, anyone.” Crista agreed, turning to face Alistair and Ben. Míriel and Jowan were walking the opposite way, back the way they’d all come. Crista caught herself and turned quickly, holding up a hand. “Anyone but Sten, that is… Don’t ask me for that. Maker knows how he’d react.”

 

Bral hooted out a quiet chortle. “Oh, oh now I have to ask him. It’ll be separate from this. One of the nights we’re all cozied around the fire pit.” She grinned and disappeared in cloud of dust. 

 

Crista shook her head, turning back to the boys. “Alright. Our mission’s still the same. Find the smith’s daughter—”

 

“Owen?” Ben supplied.

 

“Yes. Owen. His daughter—”

 

“Valena?”

 

“Ben, Maker help me, I’ll jam my fist so far down your—”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Right.” Crista sighed, glancing over her shoulder at Míriel down the hall as she spoke quietly to Jowan. “We clear out the bowls of this damned place, find Valena, and get up topside. Bann Teagan will be somewhere, and it’s our job to find him before we do…anything.”

 

“Do anything?” Alistair asked, his tone ludicrous. “I’d say freeing a blood mage is up there on the ‘anything’ list.” 

 

Crista gave him a pointed look. “You want to kill him, Alistair?” she challenged.

 

“I…” Alistair’s gaze swiveled over Crista’s shoulder to Míriel. The fight instantly went out of him. “No.”

 

“Good. Cause at this point, it’d be a waste. You’d have to go through me for one thing.”

 

“I’d pay good coin to see that.” Ben gibed.

 

“Shut up.” Crista snapped, making both men wince. 

 

Meanwhile, Míriel was explaining the exit out of the windmill to Jowan.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right… and…and I won’t make things worse, I swear.” He assured stuttering over his own words, too excited at the chance he was receiving to bother with proper words or etiquette.

 

“I know, and…” Míriel glanced askance back before saying. “When it looks like everything’s clear, find Morrigan.”

 

“Who?”

 

“One of my traveling companions. You’ll know who she is. She looks exactly how you’d imagine a witch of the wilds would look. Explain what happened to her, and tell her I said she’d give you some provisions. Then, make your way to the docks. You’ll find a man down there; he’s part of the mage’s collective….” Míriel met his eyes, her hands clasping onto one of his wrists. “I’m sure they can help you…it’s…it’s what they do.” She let out a tiny laugh, feeling hope drain out of her.

 

“Your, uh..your friend. Morrigan was it?…she, uh…”

 

“She’s an apostate and hates the Chantry. If you tell her your a blood mage, she’ll be thrilled to help you.”

 

Jowan’s eyebrows rose in surprise before he nodded. “I see….” He put a hand over her fingers, which were still clinging to his wrist. “I wish… I wish I could take it all back.” He said before meeting Míriel’s eye. “I’d give anything to be cloistered back in the tower with you. Especially knowing what I know now.”

 

Míriel tried to smile… but it was too wilted from regret. “Neither of us can go back.” She said simply, resting her forehead against his bicep. It had never been very muscular, but the gesture always gave her comfort for some reason. “All we can do, is try to find our own way forward now.” Another breathless laugh wheezed out of her. “Maker…How long has it been since our last kerfuffle?” 

 

Even Jowan’s smile was watery as he shook his head. An old joke from when they were just children. She’d been so lost and alone, even in a tower with plenty of other mage children. She had needed someone near enough to her own age to be there for her, and Jowan had needed someone to need him. Little Míriel and Jowan would get into so many mischievous adventurous…one day, they’d learned the word ‘kerfuffle’ and began calling themselves ‘Kerfufflers’, as if having some sort of title made their nonsense legitimate….It would be a very long time until their next kerfuffle.

 

“…I’ll… I probably wont see you again, will I?”

 

Míriel swatted his elbow, trying not to feel the sharp sting of sorrow. “I can’t cry in here, Jowan. I’m covered in…things that may just make my robes stand up and dance away all on their own.”

 

He swallowed hard and nodded.

 

“I want you to know.” She began, meeting his eyes with a passionate intensity. “I believe in you. I think that in spite of everything, it was all worth it if it gives you this change.” She took in a heavy breath in hopes it would steady her. “And I don’t expect you to just unlearn blood magic or never use it again, because that’s just impractical and unrealistic… but I do expect that you’ll understand how best to use it.” Now, Míriel managed a relatively decent smile. “Let it serve the best in you….because, your magic isn’t want makes you a good mage.” She reached up and wiped his cheek clean so that she could lift up on tip-toe to kiss him. “Good bye.” She said at last.

 

“Goodbye…my friend.” He said, smiling with tears in his eyes before he turned and left. He didn’t look back, but he knew that she was watching him for as long as she could.

 

“Hey.” It was Ben. Of course. That would explain why she hadn't heard him approach. Why wasn’t it Crista? Míriel felt as though it should have been Crista. She was surprised when he thrust a clean handkerchief in front of her face. “Here.”

 

She let out a startled chuckle, partially amazed that her body could contain sincere joy in this moment. “You just carry these around with you?” 

 

“There’s a pouch at the bottom of my quiver.” He explained with an absent nod, his eyes straight ahead. He hadn’t looked at her through this entire exchanged, even as she dotted her eyes with his handkerchief. “You never know when you’ll need one.”

 

She laughed. “I guess you’re right.” She said with a shrug, offering the slightly used hanky back. 

 

Ben only shook his head. “Keep it, dear lady.” He said with a smile, his eyes kind as they met her’s. “You never know when you may need one.” She only nodded, sniffing rather loudly. “I wish we could give you more time,” he said as they turned and began slowly ambling back towards where Alistair and Crista were waiting by the doorway. “but Bral is bound to be back—”

 

“Right friggin’ now.” Bral said, sliding out from behind the doorway. Míriel’s hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to reign in her cry of surprise. Why was she always so surprised? Their rogue companions _always_ got the jump on her.

 

“What’s it lookin’ like?” Crista asked.

 

“Oh, but we got so much ground to cover.” Bral grumbled, shaking her head. “I got us a layout though, but it won’t be easy. There’s a small army’s worth of undead on this level alone.” 

 

“Then we’d best get ourselves moving.” Crista said. She wasn’t worried about the undead. They could easily clear them out and make this castle safe again. But the undead weren't the real problem...they were just a symptom. That veil ripping business that Jowan had rambled on about earlier? That was something that she probably could fix by shield-bashing the shit out of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now I'm in need of a handkerchief...and I've no clever quiver pocket to retrieve them from.
> 
> =,,= At least now, I can sleep.
> 
> Much Love.


	7. Divide and Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Killing the child is only the quickest course.” Míriel’s tiny voice seemed stronger with the armor of knowledge. “But to say that it’s the only choice would be a lie.”

 

 

Crista stared at the battered and bloody body on the castle floor. She felt her body relax when she saw his chest rising and falling. A deep breath wheezed its way into her lungs.

 

“I just shield-bashed the shit outta Teagan!” she called, hoping Míriel had enough in her for a heal. She was encouraged by a half coughing laugh that stuttered its way out of Teagan’s body.

 

“Barbaric trollop!”Isolde shrieked as she hurried to help—or at least look like she was helping. Míriel was doing all the legwork with her magic. “How dare you so crassly address a noble after assaulting—”

 

“Stow your bile, Orleasan slag.” Crista growled earning an aghast gasp. Ban Teagan diffused the situation by standing up on his own power, though he looked more than a little disoriented. 

 

“Teagan! Teagan, are you alright.” She simpered. Crista couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Isolde was the reason Teagan hadn’t been at Redcliffe castle when all of this had happened. She only knew for certain that she preferred the hoards of angry corpses to this worthless fop.

 

“I am …better now. I think.” Teagan seemed to steady himself before finishing. “My mind is my own again.”

 

“Blessed Andraste.” Lady Isolde whimpered. “I would never have forgiven myself if you’d died. Not after I brought you here. The fool I am.” Her weary gaze turned towards the reassembled pack of Grey Wardens, seemingly forgetting about the shouting contest she forfeited. Then again, priorities. “Please… Connor’s not responsible for this. There must be some way we can save him.”

 

“I certainly don’t see any way this can end happy.” Crista sighed, her head suddenly feeling very heavy…her shoulders as well. 

 

“This child is… an abomination.” Ben half groaned. “I don’t even…” He shook his head. “Is there a way to make this stop without….?”

 

“He is not always the demon you saw.” Isolde was eager to counter argue, of course she would be. She was a mother. A desperate mother. “Connor is still inside him, and some times he breaks through. Please. I just want to protect him.”

 

“Isn’t that what started this?” Teagan reminded. “You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret. To protect him.”

 

“If they discovered that Connor had magic…then…they’d take him away.” Isolde said it as if it was obvious. As though she’d made the only choice she could have possibly made. As though thousands of mothers before her hadn’t made that very choice, and most of them hadn’t had the options that the Arlessa would have. “I thought if, he learned just enough to hide it..then…”

 

“What are our options here?” Crista asked. “I don’t much care about motivations and the shoulda-coulda-woulda’s. We have a situation, and no amount of justification or excuses can fix it. It falls to us. Now.”

 

“I wouldn’t normally suggest slaying a child, but…he’s an abomination. I’m not sure there’s any choice.” Alistair was one big knot of wincing reproach. The templar training buried in there was relatively strict… Templar…hm. What would a Templar do? Smite first, ask questions later, no doubt.

 

“I do not like the idea of hurting the boy either, but…” Ben shook his head. 

 

“Connor is my nephew.” Teagan stated in a tone that was attempting to salvage some of its host’s boldness. “But…” he wavered. “He is also possessed by a demon.” His gaze held Isolde’s desperate one. “Death would be…merciful.”

 

“No! What-What about the mage? He could know something of this demon….if he still lives. We should speak to him.”

 

“Not an option.” Crista gruffed. “Besides, you tortured him already. Your obviously didn’t trust him _then_.”

 

“I would agree.” Teagan interceded, which helped Crista relax. She was more than willing to take responsibility for that decision, but damn if they didn’t need to focus right now. “Anything he told us would be of questionable value at best.”

 

“Can we do nothing else?” Isolde’s tone rang hollow.

 

“Killing the child is only the quickest course.” Míriel’s tiny voice seemed stronger with the armor of knowledge. “ _But_ to say that it’s the only choice would be a lie.”

 

“What…” Isolde’s voice trembled with the pain of strangled hope.

 

“We can confront the demon in the fade, though… not easily.” Míriel explained, drawing more towards the front of the group. All eyes were trained on her now, and she was getting much better at handling the weight of hungry gazes, if Crista had anything to say about it (and of course she did).

 

“What do you mean? The demon is within Connor, is it not?” Teagan’s questions were completely legitimate. If Crista saw demons, she tended to think they were physical. After all, the Shades that they’d encountered were solid enough against her shield and sword.

 

“No. Not physically. It lies in the Fade. No doubt it approached him there and convinced him to make a deal…for his father, obviously. It controls the boy from there. We _can_ follow that connection however, and do battle with its true form.”

 

“So you can enter the Fade, and kill the demon without hurting my boy?” Isolde’s question caused everyone to stare at Míriel again.

 

“Is it possible to?… yes.” Míriel began, and Crista sensed a serious ‘but’ in there. “Are we able to… not at this juncture. Entering the fade requires lyrium as well as numerous mages to perform the ritual.”

 

“Neither of which we have… I understand. Can we do nothing else?”

 

“Where is Arl Eamon?” It was Ben who asked, mildly concerned over not having the Arl close at hand to protect. 

 

“Upstairs, in his room. I think the demon has been keeping him alive.” Isolde murmured.

 

“So if we destroy the demon, then…?” Teagan ventured. 

 

“Then my husband may perish, yes.” Isolde seemed so tired. 

 

“So…we could just accelerate his death, if we outright kill the demon?” Bral asked. When had she gotten back? Whelp. Crista could only assume the courtyard and knights therein had been informed at least.

 

“The Urn! The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon.” Isolde cried.

 

“That… That’s not something anyone even knows exits.” Ben’s voice was so laden with confusion, it was obvious he thought even trying for such a relic was ludicrous. How did one go from ‘poison’ to a search for a holy relic? Weren’t there in-between steps? Certainly, there had to be healers…right?

 

“My husband funded the research of a scholar in Denerim. A brother Genitivi. He’s been studying the inscriptions on Andraste’s Birth rock. When Eamon fell ill, I sent the knights to speak to Genitivi. I had hoped that he had been able to locate the urn of sacred ashes itself. They were unable to locate Genitivi. In desperation, I sent more knights in search of the brother or some clue of the urn’s location.”

 

“Alright, this isn’t that hard to figure out now. We’re all aware of both problems, so let’s focus on this one thing at a time, and make a plan from there.” Crista said. “We have a boy possessed of a demon. The only way to safely remove this demon without harming the boy is to have a bunch of lyrium and mages…”

 

“You can find lyrium and mages at the Circle of Magi…if they would even do it.” Alistair was the one to offer that tidbit. 

 

“The Circle Tower is not far from here…” Míriel’s voice trailed off as she stared at Alistair. He slowly turned to stare at her as well, something between their gazes igniting. It was as if you could see the idea blazing into existence in both of them at the same time.

 

“ _That_ …is an excellent point. One of the treaties is also for the Circle of Magi, after all.”

 

“The tower is about a day’s journey across the lake.” Teagan rushed, a new hope lightning and hurrying his tone. “You could attempt to get the mages’ help.”

 

“Now… as to the Arl’s condition.” Crista sighed heavily, finding this to be a more worrisome task than dealing with the mages. She had every faith that Míriel’s connection to the Circle would aid them with that… but this. “We have to consider that removing the demon from the equation will remove that protection from Eamon.” 

 

“We could always divide and conquer.” Míriel suggested. Crista surveyed their tiny group of Wardens. She was nodding slowly as she began to understand where Míriel was going on this. “I have connections with the Circle.”

 

“Connections?” Isolde surveyed her, her eyes making an obvious trek down her robes. It was as if the woman hadn’t even noticed that Míriel was a mage until now.

 

“First Enchanter Irving was my mentor. I could take a contingent of our people to the tower while someone else leads a party to Denerim.” Her eyes bounced first to Crista, but then quickly to Ben. Crista understood Míriel’s distress. He had been so visceral in his hatred of Loghain that Míriel and Crista had both worried he would be very eager to take the fight to the man himself… 

 

“That…doesn’t sound safe.” Ben began uneasy. Well, thank the Maker for that.

 

“I guess we’ll have to take up the quest to find this relic.” Crista said solemnly. 

 

“No one else can.” Teagan was practically grimacing with disappointment. “Even if I wished to do it myself, I cannot leave Redcliffe." Well, that would be obvious... Especially after seeing what happens to the place when Isolde is in charge of making the decisions. "Perhaps you could seek out the brother’s home in Denerim and see if any clues remain on his whereabouts. It is the only place to begin the search, I think.”

 

“We have to regroup with our party in the village…and I’m sure your knights will need more instruction.” Crista’s words were nearly an aside, a simple list of where to go first before setting off. She nodded, ideas cementing in her head. They really needed to address their party…

 

“But what will happen here? Connor will not remain passive forever!” Isolde reminded.

 

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Crista isn’t willing to make this sacrifice. As much as she might resent Isolde…the idea of taking a child's life...She doesn't see how anyone could see that as anything but a last resort. 

 

“I wish you luck, and may the Maker go with you.” Teagan said with a determined nod. 

 

It felt like a long trek back to Redcliffe, and there were many pit stops with people all vying for information. Crista tried to keep it simple. ‘Stay as far away from the castle as you can. The Arl is sick an we’re trying to fix it’. Short, simple, easily understood.

 

As they approached their companions, Ben’s Tholly and Míriel’s Fred charged out to greet them. The dogs didn’t jump or bark, they only circled their chosen masters and trotted cheerfully by their sides. It was as if somehow the dogs knew that the air was too somber to convey any of their canine enthusiasm at the sight of their people. Void, maybe they were smart enough… Mabari. Almost unsettling intelligence.

 

“What news?” Leliana asked eagerly.

 

“We’re going to have to split up.” Míriel began. “We need a team to go to the Circle Tower and another team to discretely head to Denerim.”

 

“Uh, if it’s okay with you guys, I got some business to see to before we leave.” Bral drawled, slinking away.

 

Ben stared after her and then to Crista. “Considering all the corpse grime she had to stealth through, I’m guessing she’s gonna see about a bath.”

 

“What’s this about splitting our merry band, now?” Morrigan asked.

 

“I’m going to be taking a group to Denerim.” Crista said. “Míriel’s going to be leading a group to the Circle. I call Morrigan.” 

 

Míriel blinked in surprise, along with most everyone else. “Oh. Is that how we’re doing this?”

 

“It seems the fastest way.” Crista shrugged. “Besides, I really don’t like the idea of Morrigan being near that tower. Too many Templars and not enough escape routes. No offense, Alistair.”

 

“None. Taken.”

 

“Right then.” Míriel nodded. “I want Alistair.” Grey Warden Mage returning to the tower with a Grey Warden Templar…good play there. 

 

“Oh, you’re so bold, Míriel.” Crista hummed earning a wolfish smile from Morrigan, and a giggle from Leliana. Alistair actually blushed… dear man. Sometimes his naiveté was too adorable for words.

 

“What?” More owlish blinking from the sheltered circle mage and intinsified blushing from the sheltered templar recruit upon eye contact. Oh dear. This could be fun. “…I didn’t…Never mind.” 

 

“Right. I’m calling Ben.” Crista continued. “I suppose that means I’m taking Tholly as well. It’d be cruel and unusually not to.”

 

“That’s alright. I just assumed that Fred would be going wherever I was going.” Míriel assured. “And I want Leliana on my team.” A little more careful in her choice of wording now. 

 

Crista nodded. “And I’m tapping Sten.” She took a deep breath, trying to reason out what may lie ahead of them. 

 

“That means I get Bral…wherever she is, I’m sure she’s not pleased about that decision.” Míriel said with a soft chuckle. 

 

“Well, she’s not here to bitch about it.” Ben grumbled.  

 

“It may do us good to try and rest for a few hours, and then set out under the cover of night.” Míriel advised. “It’s been a long day.” She finished with a sigh. The group went their separate ways to see about lodging and beds. Crista was surprised to note Ben was walking back up the hill towards the windmill…no wait, he was going across that wooden bridge to a hut that was clinging to the cliff wall. Why bother braving that chasm? That wasn’t an inn…just someone’s home… Unless Ben knew something she didn’t.

 

“Hey.” Míriel’s voice broke through her musings. “You alright?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Crista deflected, flinching back to reality.

 

“You said you came from Denerim.” Was Míriel’s only response. Crista nodded. “Are you worried about Loghain or getting through the city, or…”

 

“No. None of that. I know that city from it’s high towers to it’s grimy slums.” Crista snorted softly. “Especially the slums.” She shook her head, letting out a breath in hopes the slow seeping of air at a regulated pace would ease the tension in her chest and back. “I just…” she shook her head again, wishing she could just reset herself. “I wish I could see my family again.” She explained. 

 

“Why can’t you? I’m technically going to see mine.” Míriel bobbed her head back and forth as if to indicate a ‘so-so’ response. “Well… sort of.”

 

Crista shook her head again, this time as a response. “The city’s still dangerous. Even its underbelly won’t be completely free from assjackles who want to make some coin off of Loghain’s attempts to cover his flank.” Crista felt like growling again. “Void. Remember Lothering?” 

 

Míriel nodded remorsefully, her mouth flattening into an exaggerated line in distaste. “I suppose I see your point.”

 

“And this quest for the ashes…it’s too important to pussy-foot around with.” Crista felt her resolve hardening, knowing what had to be done in spite of what she wanted. “Loghain won’t always have the high ground.” She reminded. “I’ll just have to wait and check in on them later.” 

 

Míriel nodded. “I’m more worried about Ben and Morrigan.”

 

“What? You think they won’t get on well?” Crista asked. She’d seen no evidence of Ben being the least bit bothered by Morrigan. If anything he had gone out of his way to be a little more accommodating. Nothing too obvious, really. Otherwise, Morrigan probably would’ve tried to kill him with her eyes. But if you paid attention, you’d notice him making sure her fire would last through the night, or that her tent was properly covered and well insulated. Little things that just made the situation a tad more bearable….though…technically he did that for all of the women in their party. Crista had a thought and nearly laughed out loud. Maybe chivalry wasn’t dead, it was just living on the lam. 

 

“Not at all. They make quite a team once they get past themselves.” Míriel assured. “But Morrigan stands out. It’ll be harder to avert eyes. And Ben…” Míriel chewed her lip.

 

“What?”

 

“Well… I didn’t want to say anything out of turn, but… that big sword that he carries? It carries the Cousland crest.”

 

That certainly got Crista’s attention. Her eyes snapped to Míriel’s, not quite sure what that observation meant or what it ever was. Who were the Couslands, anyway? Obviously a noble family, but…they were important enough to have their own hereldry or whatever.

 

“The what now?”

 

“The open wreath engraved near the hilt of the blade? That sword is very old and very well made. It’s… it’s a family heirloom, and Ben guards it jealously.”

 

It was true. Ben had that sword, which even Crista had been impressed with, along with a very well made dagger… but he preferred to use his bow more than anything. He wasn’t a ranger either, his skill in tracking wasn’t _that_ good. Still, he knew his bow and nature well enough that his blades were secondary in any fight. 

 

“So…what are you saying exactly?”

 

“I think Ben isn’t _just_ Ben. I think he’s Benjamin Cousland.” Míriel said softly, and Crista had to wrack her brain for the significance behind that name. Míriel finally took pity on her, supplying the connection without even teasing her over her lack of knowledge. “The second son of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever.”

 

“Oh... Oh!” Crista’s gaze skittered around rapidly, making sure they were alone here. “Our little Ben, huh? I wonder how that happened.”

 

“I don’t know.” Míriel murmured. “I’ve read about the Couslands, but Ben was at Ostagar before we were, and…well… Neither of us were in a position to receive news of anything significant enough that would cause an Arl’s son to be conscripted.” Míriel took in a deep breath. “We’ll just have to wait until he’s comfortable enough to tell everyone.” She said shrugged. 

 

“Yeah. It’s what we’re doing for everyone else…even us.” Crista said cryptically. Míriel’s eyes sharpened, narrowing just slightly as she reconsidered the words and whatever tidbit of knowledge she may not have initially perceived. “I still haven’t told you everything about my conscription.”

 

Míriel’s eyebrows rose just slightly. It made her look less wounded. The mage’s face always seemed so sad… But not now. Now she seemed open and yet resolute. “And you never have to.” She smiled and thumped her staff against the edge of Crista’s shield before sauntering towards the Chantry. 

 

…That was the thing about Míriel. She made it easy to feel content. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun :) I mean... Not for them or anything. But I got to type up 'Stow your bile, Orleasan slag', so I'm calling it a good day :3


	8. Glass Cannon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Míriel and Alistair have a little heart-to-heart before setting out on their arduous journey...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I cranked this chapter out. I still have 3 papers and 2 presentations due :| I don't know if you believe in any god or not, but for the love of Andraste, pray for me =_=

Míriel woke, clutching tightly to Woofred. She'd found his presence to be comforting, and that was her excuse for letting him sleep with her. If you had told her last year that her greatest source of warmth and comfort would come from spooning a Mabari...Well...she probably would've been confused as to how she would come by getting a Mabari, but otherwise she would've responded that she _was_ Ferelden, after all. She wilted against Woofred's spine, her forehead resting on the back of his neck.

She had felt tension rising even while dreaming…she'd knew it would turn long before she found herself at the top of the toward of Ishal again. As it was, she was only just gaining the skill of waking herself in order to avert a nightmare…it hadn't been necessary when she had lived at the circle. All that rationalization was an excuse for why she _still_ wasn't good at it. Maybe one day she'd be able to wake herself before her heart started racing and that sickening pull on her spine gripped her.

Not today obviously.

Woofred was looking back at her, worry etched into every wrinkle on his face. He'd started sleeping right beside her after they'd left Lothering, much to Crista's chagrin. Míriel didn't care if she smelled like dog, because early on, when she'd been unable to wake herself…he'd been there for her. There to squeeze and cry into.

"G'morning, Handsome." Míriel said, patting that area between his shoulder blades and the scruff of his neck. He panted, relieved that she wasn't as bad off as she had been so many nights before.

She rose quickly, determined to put her dreams of death and darkspawn behind her and prepare for the day… or night. Whichever. It would be a long one either way.

After checking the position of the moon, she was a little perturbed that she'd only managed to sleep for a few hours. There was plenty of time before they'd all be rising and getting ready… but she wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not well.

She found Alistair by the docks. He was just sitting there, admiring the castle in the distance.

"So…about those devout flying dogs of yours." Míriel began as she approached him from behind. She saw his torso shake from a single chuckle, but otherwise no response… Perhaps now was not the time. "We need to talk about this, don't we?"

"No." He said, leaning for leverage to stand. "Decision's been made anyway." He said after rising to his full height and facing her. "Not much need to talk about it now."

"You're important to me." Míriel said, putting it as plainly as she could. "I can't change the decisions that I've made in the moment, but that doesn't mean I would cast your concerns aside with no consideration of your opinions."

She had made _many_ decisions recently, and he could be taking issue with any one of them… but her money was on Jowan. So to speak.

"I _know_. I do. I know that, it's…it's why I keep trying to shrug it off. To convince myself." He sighed. "We're taught that blood magic is the worst."

And there it was.

"I know." Míriel tried to assure. "We were both taught that, Alistair."

"Then how could you—"

"Because of the things we _aren't_ taught." The former Templar stilled, eyeing her carefully. "We're taught that blood mages are maleficarum. The worst of the worst. Barely even human." Those words hurt so much to say, but she knew they couldn't go unsaid because of what followed. "What they don't tell us is that blood mages are people." Míriel swallowed hard, maintaining eye contact and refusing to cry. "Jowan was my big brother. And he's a good man. He's also a blood mage… but the one never canceled out the other. With that in mind, I have to assume that a blood mage can be a good man who has made…" her face contorted almost comically. "horrible, unreasonably bad choices…" Alistair did laugh a little at that…which was good. It meant he wouldn't hold on to his resentment. "And I have to believe that if given the chance a good man can move past a bad choice."

Alistair nodded, a more sympathetic look on his face. "You're not talking about that Jowan character anymore, are you?"

Míriel tutted as she attempted to strut past him back down the wharf. "You Templar boys always think you're so clever."

"Ohhh. You know so many 'templar boys' then?" Alistair teased following behind Míriel.

"A couple."

"Well, if it please your Majesty to recall, I am not a templar boy."

Míriel smirked arching an eyebrow at him as he drew up beside her. "Well…certainly not a boy any more." She said, extraordinarily gratified to see his ears flush red. "But… Templar education itsn't easily cast aside. No one schooled in a Chantry merely shakes that off."

"True enough.." He allowed. "Were you raised in a chantry?"

"Me?" Míriel halted, brought up short by the question. "Oh no. No I…" She paused and sighed. "Usually I say that I _know_ I was born in Denerim and relocated to the tower, but I was too young to remember anything of my life before the Circle of Magi."

"…Is that not true?"

"Yes and no." Míriel relented, feeling a need to share this with him that overrode her usual prudent nature. "I do have memories from before the Circle, but…they don't make any _sense_. They're all flashes of images with an overabundance of emotion but absolutely _no_ context. It's infuriating really." She eyed the heel of his boots, shaking her head. "I … don't usually tell people that. It unsettles them."

Alistair's head cocked to the side curiously the way Woofred did when she instructed him to do something, but he was fairly sure her instructions would impede him from protecting her properly.

"Why d'you suppose that is?" He asked, before rushing through. "The bit about it unsettling them, that is."

"I cannot say for certain, of course. No one really shares the roots of their fears. I suppose I do understand it on a conceptual level… An emotional mage is like a glass cannon on the fritz. Many normal mages have to deal with the threat of demons, but an overly emotional mage? ..they're liable to do anything or attract any kind of danger." She shrugged. "I'm not saying it's completely accurate for every case, but I'm certain it's a large part of it. Even subconscious, perhaps."

"That seems unfair… not that our world is overly concerned with fair." His nose scrunched up in distaste, which looked just adorable on a (mostly) grown man in full armor. "What _do_ you remember?"

Míriel tried to calm the nervous jittering in her heart…. Tried to remember that time…

"Tree branches… dogs, dust, crumbling stone." She shook her head. "Hunger and sadness and fear and…" she always brought herself up short here. To say this was unpleasant was to liken the archdemon to an inconvenient foe. Her throat felt as though it was full of jagged glass that had somehow burned its way through her body.

"What?"

Míriel swallowed before clearing her throat. "I remember wanting to die."

And just like she always assumed…that brought the conversation to a grinding halt. Alistair's expression wilted into sympathy then concern, which abruptly vaulted into something she couldn't name. It was severe, haunted with unending questions and held in check with barely-there restraint.

"I _know_ I was taken away from my father… but… I can't remember him." She shook her head. "I really can't remember him. I've tried…" it was like she couldn't stop shaking her head, which made her clench her jaw resolutely refusing to continued whatever automatic denial her body was making. "I can remember the first Enchanter and Knight Commander Greagoir and Wynne and Nymn and Leta and Jowan and Chantell and Cullen and Victor…" She took a breath, steadying herself. "But not even a single face from the alienage." Alistair didn't interrupt, he just let her talk. "It sounds like it should be sad, and in a way it is, but…" she shrugged. "I honestly can't even make myself forge a link back to that. And sometimes I worry that I cling so resolutely to Crista, not because I care about her, but because I want something that links me back to that elusive part of my life… no matter how horrible it must have been." Alistair was nodding as if he heard, understood, and what he heard was natural. "I'm horrible, aren't I?"

"Nah." He said, waving her concern off so easily, but he seemed to stop himself, his brow peaking curiously. "Have you told her?" The question drawled out, as if he wasn't sure hew as allowed to ask.

"No." She said with a self-conscious laugh. "None of us just share our secrets right away. Sometimes we don't even need to. Crista's smart…she may not know why, but she knows I needed her." Míriel shrugged. "For that matter, she's a big sister type. It's the role she was most used to filling… Me needing her probably helped to provide her with something familiar. I doubt she examined it much herself. We all have our secrets." Míriel eyed him. "You do as well." He shifted, uncomfortable with her scrutiny and unable to deny her claim. "And I think the biggest part of how our band of brothers has been so successful is that we allow that rather easily. I'm not saying that our pain is sacred or our pasts are untouchable, but…it's not something we demand of each other…" Míriel smiled, serene in her own understanding. "You can tell me or not. Nothing will change. I'll have your back."

He laughed, breath huffing out with relief. "It's just… you were so… so forthright."

"That's me." Míriel said. "I shared with you because I wanted to, because I felt like I could." She shook her head. "I don't dictate to you how you should feel or what you're ready for."

She reached up, resting the palm of her hand against the side of his face. He all but froze at first before relaxing. It was strange. Something about the scruff of his facial hair and the grit of his skin skritched its way into her knuckles…in a decidedly good way. He seemed pretty pleased at her touch, or at least no where near horrified. In fact, he was very nearly nuzzling her palm.

Touch though not specifically _encouraged_ was not something withheld in the circle…but here, among her other fledgling wardens, it was a rarity. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she craved touch…but she did miss the effortless camaraderie that had inspired touch at the circle.

Alistair sighed contently, half stooping so she wouldn't have to stretch so much..it was a relief, not just from the awkward angle, but because it meant he wasn't uncomfortable to simply be here with her. She wondered if it would be awkward at all for the two of them to stay like this till it was time to go… Probably. But not yet.

Bral made a very over-done series of throat-clearing noises, which caused Alistair to spring away and Míriel to snatch her hand back.

The mischievous dwarf had her left hand docked against the curve of her left hip. The tip of her right pointer finger rested in the dipping dimple of her chin… it only made her look like more of a trickster ready to pounce on a good punch line.

"What?" Alistair groused.

"Oh. No. It's nothing." She said, waving him off as though his concern was no more than an errant breeze. "Just take all the time you need to cuddle and share your sweet nothin's." She said with a blinding grin that blatantly said _'I'll be making fun of you for this later and now. Both.'_. Alistair looked like he wanted to punt her. Míriel wondered if they would combust from embarrassment. "Leli and I are ready whenever you are though."

Was it already nearing time to leave?

Maker!

"It would be prudent to leave as soon as possible." Míriel said, attempting to reassert control. She knew her expression was passive enough, if only her entire face wasn't on fire.

"Right. Yes. We should.." Alistair made a vague gesture to the road out of Redcliffe.

"Yes. Yes, indeed." Míriel agreed, trying to ignore Leliana's giggles as they passed.

Maker….this was going to be such an ordeal.


	9. Impostors & Assassins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned to a friend that this was making me wonder if I shouldn't pose the question, "What is Crista cussing about in THIS chapter?" :| It's not a trend that I really want to continue, but it's early....and she's more stressed. So there ya go.
> 
> And next week is finals week, guys..... I'll be reminding myself to breathe for the foreseeable future.

Crista stared at Weylon's corpse with what could only be described as a resigned sort of resentment.

"Too easy." Morrigan gloated.

"Just once. I'd like to leave Denerim because I've chosen to leave Denerim….and not because I need to get away from murder fall out."

"One day." Ben pretended to soothe with a wry grin. "But he attacked us, and what's worse, he lied to us… so, obviously, today the world needed one less fool."

"Clearly." Crista muttered, her eyes landing on the door Morrigan had all but insisted on going through before the skirmish started. "Let's see what's so Maker-damned important." She kicked open the door…not so much because it was locked, but because she felt the distinct need to kick something. "Aw…shit." She grumbled when her eyes landed on the wrapped corpse.

"Is that… It's not brother Genetivi is it?" Ben asked.

"We obviously need to look around. No one just keeps a corpse in the back room." Crista grunted, attempting to unwrap the body on the floor.

"I think that's Weylon…like. Really Weylon." Ben said from the other room. Crista looked over, to find him rifling through papers he'd found on…uh…the other Weylon. The fake Weylon.

"…That's… well, not good, but. It's better than it being Genetivi and this being a complete dead end."

There was a beat of silence before Ben looked up and called back. "I see what you did there."

Sten rolled his eyes.

Crista huffed out a laugh.

"This appears to be notes on this urn you're so interested in." Morrigan said from the table. "Apparently, Genetivi is in Haven…"

"Where the fuck is Haven?" Crista's voice was so forceful and resentful, it actually made Morrigan and Ben wince. Though…it appeared that Morrigan was grimacing at the map. Well, that couldn't be good.

"It appears…to be on the edge of the Frostbacks…near the south western edge of Lake Calenhad."

"You mean where we fucking were?" Crista all but spat. "Near enough to Redcliffe that you could spit. What the ever-loving fuck!"

"Indeed." Morrigan responded.

"I don't understand what you just said. Profanity though it was, it made no sense." Sten reported.

"Most profanity doesn't make sense." Ben reasoned, squatting down to pat Tholly. "Been meaning to ask, what does Vashedan mean?"

"It is our word for refuse or excrement."

"So shit." Crista smirked. She rose, threading the fingers of both hands into her hair and combing the short nearly-black strands away from her face. It was a touch more abrasive with gauntlets on, but flames. She was an alienage elf. She was used to 'abrasive'.

Her heart seized for a moment, half cursing herself for remembering when they were so close to the alienage. She couldn't think about that now. It would be easy to 'just check in' but that would make her want to pitch in where she could. Word would get around, and Loghain would find them…her family would have to wait.

"What do you want to do?" Ben asked, snapping her back to present.

"We have few options." Crista said. "We said we'd find Genetivi and find the Urn. The mission's still the same. If Genetivi is on the other side of the country…" She shrugged. "..then we haul ass back that way."

"We may want to acquire horses." Ben advised.

"Do we have the coin for that?"

"I know a guy." He assured. Her brow rose. She'd never pictured Ben as being the sort of guy who knew a guy. He seemed more 'unwashed ranger' than the sort to have friends in low places….and that was before Míriel had shared the Cousland thing.

"Let's go now then. The sooner we're out of this city, the better."

"I couldn't agree more." Morrigan groused.

It was odd to be out and about in the city. Originally, Ben had asked whether or not they should buy cloaks or not, but Crista had assured him that would only hamper their progress. Anyone could walk about in armor at this point. The streets had soldiers, Templars, even a few mages scattered about every corner. Warriors walking about wouldn't gain a second glance, as most people simply assumed they were a group of hired muscle. Wearing a cloak would just announce 'shady characters! Right here!' and they'd have to worry about everyone watching them.

"By the way," Morrigan drawled in Ben's general direction. "You needn't play the moronic hero in Alistair's absence."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Darting in as you did between myself and that charlatan. I assure you, I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"He was going to hit you." Ben reminded incredulous.

"Yes. And your lofty heroic earned you nothing but a punch to the aw."

"Exactly." Morrigan stared at him. "And then Tholly mauled his ass."

"Fucker didn't stand a chance." Crista muttered almost respectfully as she eyed their nearly-prancing kanine companion.

"She kept him down and we never let him get up again."

"And all it cost you was a sore jaw." Morrigan grumbled.

"Please. My jaw can take it. Yours…" He pretended to eye the line of her jaw, though It was a decent excuse to admire her face. "Well.. I do hate the mere notion of marring perfection." Morrigan smirked, and it wasn't even one of her 'I could tear out your liver and eat it' smirks.

"Geh." Crista groaned loudly. "Get the fucking horses already." They stopped outside a stables, Been and Tholly entering from a side door. They hadn't waited ten minutes before Ben returned.

"He'll meet us out back." Ben said, waiving for them to follow.

"And you are certain you can trust this…guy?" Morrigan asked. The term 'guy' sounded so strange coming from her.

"Yes. I'm certain." Ben led the way, and Crista began to get more and more anxious.

"Um, excuse me, but are we at the royal stables?" She growled, eyeing the private grate that she'd only heard of. Rumors around the Alienage had said that the stables used by those at the castle had a private, less guarded gate. Elves whispered it to each other when they were desperate to escape the city.

"Yeah." Ben's curt attitude was… strange. He just was the 'curt' type. He was the Ben type. "Problem?"

"Can't do much about it now, can we?" Crista responded, letting it go with a shake of her head and a gusty sigh.

A man who was far too well dressed to be a mere stablehand came out, leading four fully tacked horses.

"These should serve you well." He said and Ben took one set of reigns, offering it to Morrigan.

"Thank you, Aaron." He said.

"Wish I could do more." The man laments.

"Take care of yourself." Ben advised, solemn. "Batten down the hatches or take what's yours and go north…because it'll get worse before it gets better."

Aaron nodded. "Hey, B…sorry, about your family." He shook his head. "Such a tragedy."

Ben nodded, before mounting up. "Maker turn his gaze on you, Aaron."

"You as well, Ser." Aaron replied, crossing his arms over his chest and half bowing in a full salute. Then he turned on heel and strode into the stables without looking back.

"How touching." Morrigan cooed. "Blessing him with the Maker's gaze."

"Easy enough when your figure head is a figment of collective imagination." Ben grumbled.

"Oh." Morrigan eyed him, smirking. "So you do not believe in the Maker, hm?"

"Not any more." Ben deadpanned, spurring his horse on.

* * *

"I think he's still alive." Ben said as he skimmed his fingers over the assassin's neck.

"Where in blighted world did this wolf come from?" Crista growled pointing to the great furry beast that was casually allowing Tholly to sniff it's muzzle.

"We need to focus." Ben snapped, not at all ready to explain about his errant furry companions. "This assassin is going to wake up, and when he does, we need to know who hired him and where he came from."

"What do you propose we do?" Sten grunted.

"We interrogate him." Crista said. "That's relatively simple. It might shock you, but I'm comfortable with playing the hardass."

"Astounding." Ben mocked while his face reflecting false consternation.

"Mm…" The man on the ground began to groan. "What? I ..Oh." His eyes fluttered as he looked up at his captors. "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."

"Quiet!" Crista thundered, before her voice lowered into solid steel. "You'll answer when you're spoken to."

"Oh. You're rather an aggressive little minx, aren't you?" he said with an arched eyebrow. "Lovely, too."

Crista looked up, blinking blandly before her eyes met Morrigan's and then Ben's. They were equally chafed by his attitude, but everyone one of them were entirely too tired to even care at this point... This lead to them all looking about as lively as Sten.

"Watch who the fuck you call little." Crista growled, and the elf on the ground had the audacity to smirk. Smirk! He was in no position for such cheek.

Still smirking, he began to prattle on. "But if it's questions you're planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

"I'm rather happy you failed." Crista half chuckled, still somewhat surprised at the rush of information. Still, if there was something to latch onto, it should be something like joy concerning the failed assassination attempt.

"So would I be, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career."

"Too bad for you, then." Ben muttered.

"Yes, it's true. Too bad for me." shaking his head and feigning sorrow.

"What are the Antivan Crows?" Crista asked, almost as an aside as she stared at the horizon. They'd killed all of their attackers, so she obviously wasn't searching for others.

"They are an order of assassins out of Antiva." Ben replied. "Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done…" he eyed Zevran, still prone on the ground. "…so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here." He said to Crista. "Back where I come from, we're rather infamous."

Crista had no intention of telling him that where she came from, foreign cultural norms were not studied."Not for being particularly good assassins, I see." she snarked instead.

"Oh, fine." Zevran huffed. "Is that what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty."

"I don't think that's Fereldan... I think that's just what most winners do." Crista corrected, then looked down and winced. "Sorry, that was insensitive." She apologized. Zevran barked out a laugh, mostly surprised by her genuinely contrite response.

"You came a long way from Antiva." Morrigan murmured, leaning a bit on her staff.

"Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see."

"Oh, I'll bet." Crista said, her tone sounding a touch more naughty than she'd really wanted. "Who hired you to kill us?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it." Crista's eyes snapped up to Ben's face. His jaw had hardened, his teeth clenching together at the mention of Loghain's name. She wished Míriel was here. She could explain if there were any connection between Loghain and the Couslands. As it was, she had no idea why Ben loathed Loghain so much. Technically, they _all_ loathed Loghain, but for Ben and Alistair it was personal. She understood why Alistair felt that way…. He'd lost Duncan. What had Loghain done to Ben?

"Does that mean you're loyal to Loghain?" This came from Morrigan, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Crista and Ben. Evidently she was more than capable of picking up the line of questioning when they slacked off. She also knew how to pick up on this tension coiling beneath the surface of their dear Ben.

"I have no idea what his issues are with you." Zevran quipped. "The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service."

"And now that you've failed that service?" Crista asked.

"Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself."

"And between you and me?" The automatic follow up question, from Crista again. It followed that if she was playing the hardass, she was going to be the one to deal out whatever punishment might follow.

"Isn't that what we're establishing now?" He asked, somewhat at a loss.

"When were you to see him next?" Ben asked, stroking his chin contemplatively.

"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results… if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain _then_." Ben almost looked disappointed. Andraste's tits, did he honestly want an excuse for a confrontation? They could barely travel to Denerim and back without incident.

" _If_ you had failed?" Crista griped, rolling her shoulders back which only put her armored chest on display.

"What can I say, I'm an eternal optimist. Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" he began laughing and then realized he was laughing alone. "Ha, ha.." His laugher abated slowly. "No. I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

"How much were you paid?"

"I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quit handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest."

"Then why _are_ you one?" Crista asked, completely baffled. This elf was a feared assassin and for what? …Credibility? Obviously not, he wasn't well known. Wealth? Nope, not that either. What was the point then?

"Well," He sighed, his eyebrows raised as he glanced to the side. There was nothing but solid Ferelden soil there, so Crista had no idea what he'd expected to see. "aside from a distinct lack of ambition I suppose it's because I wasn't given much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe." His eyes rose, meeting hers. "But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it."

"Thanks. I'll take that under advisement."

"You seem like a bright girl." He said with a smile, humor softening his face somewhat. Damn, if it wasn't a nice face. "I'm sure you've other options."

"Why are you telling us all this?" Crista asked, suddenly suspicious of this forthright behavior. It wasn't typical of assassins, she assumed.

"Why not?" another half laugh. "I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

"Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

"Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further." There was a gleam in his eye that made her smirk. Not because they were on the same page, but because it was amusing that he thought he could be smooth while laying prostrate on the ground.

"I'm listening. Make it quick." she said, eyeing the horizon as if his words no longer mattered. One had to maintain the balance of power, after all.

"Well, here's the thing." Zevran began. "I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will."

Crista's head swiveled around, her eyes snapping to him, lighting viciously. Killing in the heat of battle was one thing...but this wouldn't be a good death. it'd be an execution. She accepted that there were many thing she'd have to do as a Grey Warden...but there had to be times when she'd be able to refrain.

"The thing is… I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead." His words drawled out as she sauntered towards him.

"Can we expect the same amount of loyalty from you?" Ben asked.

"I _happen_ to be a very loyal person. Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That's not a fault, really, is it? I mean, unless you're the sort of person who would do the same thing. In which case I… don't come very well recommended, I suppose."

Crista examined that concept. Before becoming a Grey Warden, had she been the sort that would die for a cause? Go down with a ship?….she was more of the 'make everyone else suffer while you survive' type, really. Her life was her own… though, she would've gladly given it for the benefit of Shiani or Soris… She had been smart enough to know that her death would never have benefited either one of them. Her eyes descended on the still unrisen elf. He certainly looked nervous. Oh. Right. His question.

"And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?" she grunted, playing off her internal debate.

She saw his expression waver into something less charming and more..honest. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the salve market when I was a child." For some odd reason, that hit Crista pretty hard. She knew what it was to live a life that was essentially owned by others. To have so little control. "I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

Crista could feel the sincerity behind his words. He needed to break the cycle as well as the yoke he'd been under. Death in a foreign land obviously wasn't something he was too bothered by…but if his failure ensured his death by the Crow's standards...

"Won't they come after you?" she asked, almost absently. At this point, the conversation was between her and Zevran with the others merely listening and watching.

"Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not…well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?"

"You must think we're royally stupid." This came from Ben….who, by the assassin's expression, Crista guessed he'd practically forgotten about.

"I think you're royally hard to kill." He said to Ben directly. "And utterly gorgeous." He added, his eyes returning to Crista's for a wink. Crista felt her back teeth grinding out of habit. "not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."

Morigan seemed to enjoy that comment, a deep chuckle resonating from her. "What do you want in return?" Crista asked.

"Well… let's see." He murmured, his eyes not bothering to assess Ben or Morrigan or Sten. He seemed to understand that in this much, Crista was calling the shots. "Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you." Crista's mouth wilted into a relenting frown as she nodded at that logic. "And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?"

"Why would I want your services?"

"Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth to picking locks." Technically, between their usual party members… they had all those roles filled. Still. Never really hurt to have more. "I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more… sophisticated…now that my attempts have failed." That. Bore merit. "I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed?"

"The bed has been cold since Míriel took up sleeping with that dog." Crista muttered absently, which got a chuckle from Ben. He looked at her with those squinty-I-cant-see-because-I'm-trying-not-to-laugh eyes and shook his head as his shoulder shook silently.

"See? I knew we could find a common interest. Or two. Or three. Really, I can go all night." Crista felt herself wincing even as she laughed at the implications of his deep tone. "So what shall it be? I'll even shine your armor. You wont find a better deal, I promise."

Crista took in a deep breath and held it before letting it out in a huff. She nodded amiably before saying, "Very well. I accept your offer."

"A fine plan." Morrigan's tone was so smooth, and yet knowing what Crista knew of her… there was irony in this statement. If not full out sarcasm. "But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you." …or perhaps not. Simple derision it is.

"That's excellent advice for anyone." Zevran advised.

"Look at it this way." Ben began with a soft chuckle. "Alistair is going to loose it when we tell him about this." That seemed to make Morrigan smile.

Zevran jumped slightly when Crista's shield slammed into the earth, point down as the bulk of it stood straight up like an impervious wall. She rested one hand atop the shield while the other reached to help him rise. He stared at her and then the shield before taking her hand. It was odd, but it felt as if the woman was the shied, the bulwark that was suddenly there defending him as she defended her own people. Not that he was deluded enough to assume he _was_ her people….not yet.

"I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation… this I swear." Zevran said after rising.

Crista nodded and glanced around. Something… seemed off to her. She stared about for a minute, counting and recounting their companions.

"Is something the matte—" Zevran began, growing slightly concerned.

"Where the fuck did the wolf go?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peace out x..x


	10. Fidgets and Itches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's already taken too long for this chapter to post. Just have it -..-

Alistair very nearly fidgeted as he tortured himself over how to proceed. They had…well. He'd like to say that they had earned the Mages aid. He felt that description fell woefully short. The mages would depart with them tomorrow…but for now, everyone deserved a rest. Too bad you don't always get what you deserve.

He had just shucked his armor (more than sick of wearing it) when Bral had thwacked his shoulder and jutted her chin in the general direction Míriel had drifted off in… it wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic about Míriel's situation…Not that he even fully _understood_ her situation. Just that it was bad... But…well… Generally it was Crista who catered to Míriel.

...and...well...if they were going to discuss what happened in the tower, what happened in the fade...he wasn't really ready for that yet.

Still, he'd mustered his courage, and he'd followed…and what he found… he still had no idea what to do. If she'd been crying, he would've… held her? He wasn't quite sure, but he hoped he'd have _some_ clue. But this…

Míriel stood, her back to him as she stared over the lake…she wasn't facing the tower or the setting sun…and she was so still.

"You don't have to do this." She said snapping Alistair to attention.

"I… uh. I'm not doing anything, per se. Just… you know… making sure you're… not alone." He half chuckled. "Buddy system, n'all that."

…What?

Maker.

He really needed to work on his mouth moving while his brain wasn't.

He swallowed. Put his hands on his hips, then made a face. Tried to let them hang at his sides… Maker… were his arms always this long? When had they gotten so…awkward? Maybe if he crossed his arms over his che—no. No, that was worse.

...Flames.

"No one coddled you after Redcliffe." Míriel reminded, making him wince.

Was she…?... well.

Maybe. He could see how she'd make the connection. Redcliffe had been where he'd been brought up, and the Circle Tower had been where she'd been brought up… He hadn't wanted anyone probing about Redclife. Huh.

"So, we both know I'm a moron, but I'll confirm it and ask. Do you not want the concern, or do you just not want to talk about it?"

Míriel's head tipped downward, her long hair further obscuring her face…but he thought he heard the barest breath of a laugh.

"You're not a moron." She murmured.

Alistair barked out a laugh. "Alright. Now I _know_ you aren't alright. You're clearly in denial."

Her shoulders twitched, and again a tiny breath of laughter. "You know when I need to laugh." Oh no. She sounded… teary. Were there tears? Was she crying? Had he made it worse? "I'm sorry." She whimpered, her hands covering her face. Oh no! She _was_ crying. And worse, she was trying to hide it. "I look so horrid when I cry."

"I _know_ that's not true." He lied, rounding to stand in front of her. He knew no such thing, as he'd never seen her cry.

He carefully took her wrists in his hands, steeling himself for squinty eyes, swollen and red and excessive snot or whatever this dreadful crying-face would look like.

…It was a little cute. In a 'mabari puppy so young it's still a cubby-puppy-role with stubby legs' way. Her eyes were only a little red, but shiny and wide. Really, what was the problem? There wasn't much excessive facial fluids!

"You look beautiful." He said.

Because it was true. She was. Crying or not, it didn't change. And he wasn't going to feel awkward about telling her so, because it wasn't like he was flirting with her or anything. He had literally. No reason. To blush….

"I want to hug you." Míriel confessed, sounding forlorn.

"Well then come here." He said, opening his arms. Her tiny body tucked against the gap between his ribs, her forehead barely glancing his jaw, her arms curled between the two of them. She was so small, he could literally wrap both arms around her and probably touch the opposite elbows. She sighed, and he felt her relax into his embrace. It went a long way to helping him relax as well.

"I remember when we first came to Ostagar…" she began. "I thought that it was amazing that such a ruin could stand the test of time… but in spite of how impressive it was, it felt so lonesome." Alistair felt so simple at such a statement. He'd thought Ostagar was impressive as well, but he'd felt more impressed by the fact that it was still there. "Now… the tower feels that way… only it's worse, because the wounds are fresh and personal."

"You think about things… in such an interesting fashion. It's so complex." Alistair shook his head. "I'm not smart enough to think the way you do. S'probably why you didn't have to hold me after Redcliffe. I just don't think about things."

A moment passed before Míriel responded, "You're smart. You always know how to make me smile."

Alistair felt his chest swell and heat spiraled through him in what he assumed was pride. It was tainted by how sad she was right now. But Míriel's words always held power. He didn't know if that was because she was a mage, or …because she was Míriel.

"I'm sorry…about your home." He felt her hands scrunch in his shirt, her forehead nuzzling against his sternum.

"I can't stop crying." He heard her whisper. His arms tightened around her just a touch.

"Then cry." He said past the aching knot in his throat. "It'll be alright." He didn't know if it would, but… she seemed to need it.

Míriel buried herself against him, trying to suffocate her nearly silent sobs.

* * *

Both Crista and Míriel were relieved to the point of near-collapse upon seeing each other. Reuniting their two parties at camp outside Redcliffe had been…mostly uneventful. No one asked Míriel about her quick trip into the Fade to free Conner. It was enough that the task was done, and they could all focus on curing the Arl.

...and...well...the hodgepodge of people they'd gathered.

Oddly enough, Zevran had been most welcoming…it didn't mean that he was well received. Alistair certainly got on better with Wynne. Then again, he'd been around her longer…and he wasn't interested in her bosom.

"So." Míriel sighed as they sat around the fire, relaxing for the first time in what felt like a long time. "Haven, hm?"

"Have _you_ ever heard of Haven?" Ben asked. He was seated on the ground with a lap full of content, lovely Mabari. Apparently Tholly and Fred also missed each other, and they were very happy to use Ben as furniture.

Míriel stared off towards the horizon. Everyone waited and stared… some at her and some in the direction she was staring. The wind rustled through the trees. The fire cracked and sizzled.

"Not really." Míriel said, her voice sounding almost startling in the quiet.

"Huh." Ben grunted. "I'm not sure if it does exist, if Míriel hasn't read _something_ about it."

"At least you got the support of the mages." Crista muttered.

"Such as they are." Míriel said bleakly.

"Fuck that." Crista spat. "No, I'm serious." She continued when she received varying degrees of shock from her companions. "Fuck. That." She ignored Wynne's wince, and Leliana's rounded eyes. "You didn't just endure a crucible, you made it your bitch. You should be proud of yourself. Not only did you stroll through five different demon lairs—in the fucking fade, on their own fucking turf—you also fought a mage powerful enough to dominate that fucking tower. You…you are fucking amazing."

"You are." Alistair seconded with certainty that suggested he'd die to defend the statement.

"No question." Leliana said with a smile.

"We're allowed to say fuck?" Bral asked, and Ben snorted out a laugh. Míriel chuckled softly as well.

"Thank you, Bral." Míriel said with a smile. "Things were getting heavy."

"So heavy." Crista groaned, rolling her eyes expressively.

"S'what I'm here for." She said with an easy-going shrug.

"To be fair, I didn't do all of that alone." Míriel reminded.

"You were alone in the Fade." Alistair reminded, his tone low and grave.

Míriel had not told anyone _how_ she had found her companions, especially as it pertained to the the state of their confinements. Mostly because…it had been personal. For Bral, Wynne, and Alistair especially. Woofred and Leliana's fade prison seemed much more straightforward. A sleeping dog and a praying Chantry sister. Nothing odd about that.

But Bral… Bral had been fighting to keep her mother and sister alive—even as her mother swore and spat at her. Wynne had been grieving the loss of her pupils. And Alistair had been… content. So selfishly content, surrounded by family that he'd either dreamed up or…well. She hadn't had the chance to pull him aside and ask him about it, but either way, he'd seemed abashed upon learning that it was all just the fade.

All of it had seemed too much to let casually slip into the ring around their fire pit.

"I…I just did what I had to do."

"What you _had_ to do?" Bral knelt up, careening her posture to put herself better into Míriel's line of sight. "Um, excuse me if I'm wrong, but by the end of it you could turn into a mouse, a flaming person, a golem, and a weird-ass spirit demon thing."

"….you know, when you say it like that, it makes me feel like I should write it all down so that I don't forget it." Míriel murmured. "Before too long, I may just believe that I made it all up in my own head… it's all just so… fantastic."

"You should." Ben said with intense certainty. "I would read the shit out of that."

"Now it really feels like it's us again." Alistair said with a bit of a dopey smile, his eyes gazing dreamily into the fire. He took a deep breath. "So!….Where is Haven exactly?"

"It appears to be closer to the Frostbacks." Ben said. He closed his eyes, frowning heavily and pretended to hold back sobs as he wilted into the scruff of Tholly's neck.

All this would've been very amusing—a grown man unable to stop himself from crying at the notion of traveling into more frostbitten territory—if it weren't for the fact that it somewhat upset their mabari companions. Both Tholly and Fred looked back to Bencin concern, and both had to be reassured that everything was ok.

"So…we're going to the Frostbacks." Míriel groaned, leaning heavily against Alistair's arm. He smiled and put that arm around her to keep her upright.

"Will we meet the Archdemon there?"

A beat of silence permeated their camp as everyone reeled in silent shock… Sten had spoken. Without being prompted to.

"No." Crista said, matching his terse tone and raising it to a strange mixture of stalwart and irate. She hadn't changed her posture at all. She still sat on the ground, her feet in front of her, knees bent, reclining in an almost-arc back against the log behind her.

Another beat of heavy silence, intruded upon by the loud pops from the fire and the distant hoot of an owl. No one else wanted to speak, and Sten was obviously assessing hot to progress…and whether or not he _wanted_ to continue.

"I will not simply—"

"You will." Crista's tone made even Bral sit up a bit straighter. It wasn't loud...it was just firm. Certain.

Crista had rocked forward, her body slightly bowed, her shoulder hunch up and her head forward….she looked like she could spring up and tear Sten's throat out at any second. No one was precisely certain what ended the stare-down-of-doom, but Sten looked away with a sigh that sounded like it could have been a groan.

"And you brought back an assassin." Míriel rubbed her hands together almost excitedly as she smiled in Zevran's direction. "I can't fault your taste in souvenirs, that's for certain."

Crista settled back smirking. "Oh? Is it the gift you never thought to ask for?"

"Better than one of those wonky wooden mabari totems." Ben said on a chuckle. "No offense." He muttered down towards his canine companions.

Zevran only smirked as he and Míriel maintained eye contact. "It is truly thrilling to have the eyes of a capable mage on me." He practically purred.

Alistair snapped upright, glaring openly. Wynne's eyebrows rose in obvious disapproval. Leliana made the same snarl of disgust she'd made when eating Alistair's lamb stew. Ben's eyebrows vaulted up, as he stared at the two dogs with a 'well that won't end well for anyone' expression. Morrigan let out a breathy snort of disdain. Bral's gaze pinged around to all of her companions before settling on Crista, as if to say, 'do you see what's happening right in front of us right now?'. Crista's face had gone slack with what could only be described as exhausted acceptance. She nodded as if to say, 'Yeah, he does that'.

Míriel continued to stare at Zevran. Her gaze was hungry, though not in the way he was used to. She was looking at him like he was a book she could simply peruse. As though if she stared long enough, she'd discover all his secrets. It was a little unnerving for the former Crow, but he maintained the air of aloof amusement well enough.

"And _you_ brought back one of the most talented mages Kinloch Hold has to offer." Ben said, sending a respectful half-nod-half-bow Wynne's way. The senior enchanter simply smiled and nodded back.

"Anything else worthy of note?" Crista asked.

"Uh… we also got a control rod." Míriel informed finally taking her eyes off of Zevran.

"A…control…rod…" Crista's tone was so slow it was obvious she didn't know what these words meant when they were strung together.

"She means, like, for a golem." Bral elaborated.

"Yes." Míriel said. "Supposedly, it will work on a golem that's in Honnleath."

"Honnleath?" Ben squinted, head jerking slightly in surprise.

"Where the fuck is Honnleath?" Was obviously Crista's response.

"Sodding Ancestors, it feels good to hear Crista say 'fuck'." Bral murmured. "Do it again."

"Fuck you." Crista said with a smile, her tone easy and accommodating...as though she'd said 'Thank you' instead. Bral pretended to shiver.

"Uhh…" Míriel blinked repeatedly, not sure what to focus on and choosing not to focus on anything she'd just heard. "As for Honnleath, it's a village in southwestern Ferelden…part of the Arling of Redcliffe, really." Míriel informs. "It isn't very well known."

"It's a wart on the backside of Ferelden." Alistair grumbled. His arm wasn't around Míriel anymore…so much as his hand was simply on the other side of her hip. It made it look as if he were leaning back with his arms splayed wide as opposed to actually having his arm around the tiny mage.

"I know we've no time for a side trip, especially _now_." Míriel wheedled. "…But…you know, we _do_ have the control rod, and it _would_ be interesting to investigate it, and..well.."

"Say the thing." Crista deadpanned.

"I would be very interested in visiting Honnleath, considering its background." When her teammates stared at her with various expressions of curiosity and confusion, she elaborated. "Honnleath was where the mage Wilhelm was allowed to retire." She looked between Wynne and Ben. Of their group, aside from her, those two would be the ones to understand the significance of this history. But they continued to stare back blankly.

"Wilhelm?" Wynne asked, the name familiar and yet she could not place it.

"…He was one of the heroes of the Ferelden Rebellion."

"Against Orlais?" Alistair asked.

"How many rebellions has Ferelden _had_?" Crista nearly spat at him. She held up a hand towards Míriel. "Don't answer that. It was a flip question to make Alistair feel dumb for asking an obvious question."

Míriel shook her head, but she was still smiling.

"He fought against the Orlesian occupation. Many times he was fighting alongside Maric Theirin. I don't imagine he's still alive, but…well…"

"You and your history love." Crista sighed.

"I just thought… I mean, it's not far, and if this works, we get our own golem!…and…" She hesitated. "If it's a dead end, well.."

"You'll have gotten to see Honnleath." Ben said with a smirk.

"Flames, after the struggle at Redcliffe, the tribulation of the mage's tower, trekking all over hill and fucking dale across Ferelden, battling a demon-child-abomination… Once the Arl is well, I reckon we'll be able to take at least a few days to do something we actually want to do."

"You mean there may come a time when we can take two breaths at the same time without worrying about the impending doom of the world?" Ben asked with a surly smirk.

"That's the dream."

"Oh, what a glorious day." Míriel half moaned, leaning heavily against Alistair as though she felt faint. He chuckled softly, rubbing her upper arm as if to warm them. "But…for _this_ day—"

"Always gotta kill the dream." Bral grunted.

"Better to kill it young before it takes you." Ben scoffed. It seemed like little more than a flip comment, but it made Tholly whine back at him. The fact that his mabari was concerned over his words put some weight on them. Míriel wondered absently what had happened in Denerim.

"We should all get some sleep." Crista finished Míriel's thought pattern. "We'll make for Haven at first light."

"All of us?" Leliana asked.

Crista nodded, suddenly solemn. "Maybe it's weird, but I got this itch in my knees that says we'll need everyone."

The camp was quiet for a moment before Bral muttered. "Jealous. My knees never tell me anything special."

"Well, how often do you actually talk to them?" Alistair quipped.

"…Point." Bral consented with a snort of laughter.

"I'll take first watch." Crista volunteered. The group ambled their separate ways as Crista stayed be the fire. She was surprised to note that Zevran remained seated. "You should get some rest too, Zevran." She offered.

"Ah, my dear Warden. I have sworn myself to your cause. I will sleep when you do." He said. "It would be ill fitting for me to snuggle into a cozy bedroll while you remain a sentry." He shook his head. "The idea does not sit well with me."

Crista's eyebrows rose, but she slowly nodded her assent."Very well." She didn't bother correcting the 'dear warden' sentiment, because she felt there was a touch of irony in the words. She appreciated irony. It was less abrasive than outright sarcasm.

"And if you require aid in helping you sleep later…" He said with that infuriating smirk of his. "Perhaps we can work on that as well."

She snorted softly. "Who has the energy?" She muttered, resenting the hell out of him and unable to fully grasp why.

Zevran was a cheeky flirt with everyone…even Alistair. Which was worth actual gold to watch. In any case, it wasn't as if this behavior was unexpected. So, why was it getting to her?

"We can always keep each other warm the old fashioned way." Zevran feigned shock upon her scathing glare. "I was implying sleeping next to one another. What was it you were thinking?" he asked, sounding scandalized.

She just shook her head.

"Of course, I could see you having reservations about sleeping beside an assassin…" he allowed.

"I've been in worse positions." Crista's voice was low and steady as she lost herself for a moment in the memory of waking up in Vaughan's castle.

"Perhaps, some day you'll tell me about it." Zevran allowed, not pressing.

She felt a sudden thankfulness that he'd dropped the air of seduction. The last thing she needed right now was…was….whatever the fuck it was he did to make himself seem like an appealing option.

"Perhaps." Crista said, eyeing the tents that comprised their camp. Everyone was settled. All was well. Now, they just needed to manage their time while they kept watch. "So. Tell me about the Crows, Zevran." She said as she rose to circle about the perimeter with him.

* * *

Anyone else feel like there's a remarkable similarity between Crista and the lady famous for saying, "Who the fuck is Jackson Pollock?"...I keep getting that vibe from her. She could be a blue-color trucker with a foul mouth...a possible AU? Because I don't have enough to write :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else feel like there's a remarkable similarity between Crista and the lady famous for saying, "Who the fuck is Jackson Pollock?"...I keep getting that vibe from her. She could be a blue-color trucker with a foul mouth....a possible AU? Because I don't have enough to write :3


	11. Heat Seeking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my finals! Thank Mighty Mythal! Here's a celebratory chapter :|

Ben was seated on a medium sized bolder, tending to his bow. He'd checked and rechecked the string, re-waxing for posterity sake…Rubbed oil over the limb and grip.

…

There was a dead dragon behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to be certain.

Yeah.

It was still there

…That….that had actually happened….in real life.

So much of that fight had been a blur of 'Fucking fuck!'.

He still didn't remember who got the dragon's attention…or how, even. Crista's itchy knees had been right. He was pretty certain that the only reason they'd all survived unscathed was because the entirety of their party had been with them.

He looked over his shoulder again, this time assessing his teammates.

Crista had taken Míriel, Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, and Morrigan with her. In a line-up of Míriel, Alistair, Crista, Wynne, and Morrigan… one of these things was _definitely_ not like the other.

Morrigan had grown close to both Míriel and Crista, in her way. Technically, he could argue that even he had found a way into Morrigan's (very) small circle of friends. He suspected that she had gone with the others more out of a sense of duty to protect the foolish women she considered her friends in spite of their ludicrous quest to find the ashes of a dead woman.

Either way, it was Alistair and the ladies… lucky dog. Ben was left to inspect the carcass for valuable parts with Sten, Zevran, Bral, the two dogs and Shale… The Non-Believers, he'd joked. It would've been a good joke if he wasn't suffering from a crisis of faith… or whatever it was. Was it really a crisis of faith or just complete disillusionment? Did it even matter?

He sighed, re-slinging his bow. Dwelling on it would not help. You could only get so far on this path... it was about as progressive as an Orlesian round-about.

He was distracted when a bird perched nearby. It was iridescent black…and its face made him think it was a raven, but it's feet and feathers weren't right.

"Look at you, beautiful and brave." He said in his lowest croon. The bird puffed up proudly. "You're special, aren't you?" Ben said. "You've the look of a Corvid…but your feet are zygodactyl, like an owl's and the feathers on your wings are shaped like a hawk's."

A quick scant glance revealed he was mostly alone. Zevran had refused to remain near the carcass, announcing his intention of 'guarding their rear' (Ben had announced that he wouldn't make the obvious joke) near the walkway from the caverns. Ben suspected he just wanted to move upwind..or out of the wind.

Shale was also positioned near the caverns, reasoning that they'd eventually tire of this nonsense—another reason he wasn't shooing the bird away. He didn't have to worry about the golem's bird-thing. Shale was...Shale was weird. It turned out that Honnleath wasn't as out of the way as they'd though (or they'd gotten very lost on the way to Haven, he wasn't sure). Either way, their newest traveling companion was... Well, he was a golem, wasn't he? There was no way he'd be normal. In any case, Sten and Bral were on the other side of the carcass. Sten had reverted to his own language, and Bral was watching Sten… it almost sounded like Sten was praying. The two dogs weren't bothered by the bird, and that sealed Ben's decision to allow its presence.

He was momentarily startled out of group inspection when the bird glided over to the bolder he was seated on.

"Fearless too, aren't you, Beautiful?" he smiled, absently reaching towards the bird. He didn't pet it. He just held out his arm as if to say, 'this is a part of me, don't be afraid of it'.

Strange purple-black smoke enveloped the bird, and Ben found himself jerking away as he stared up at an emerging Morrigan… until he finally couldn't correct his weight and balance and fell off the boulder in an undignified heap.

"Indeed I am." She gloated with a knowing grin.

"What…what sort of bird was that?" Ben felt a touch simple-minded, that being his first question.

"Twas many." Said with a crafty smile. "I find no point in gaining the status of master shapeshifter if I cannot assume the best traits of any creature." Morrigan tried to sound imperious as she waited for his reaction.

She'd enjoyed detailed discussions with Míriel, but she knew Ben might not be as open-minded. He was awfully close to Alistair and had obviously been raised Andrastian.

"You're a goddess." He finally said, utterly awestruck. He rose quickly, somehow managing to do it without appearing to scramble, and extended a hand to help her down. She considered hopping down on her own, free of his offered aid, but… she couldn't work up the ire. So, she took his hand and hopped down.

Morrigan's dilemma with compliments was that she usually felt as if it were all useless flattery or obvious observances.

Take the assassin as an example. He never flattered because of anything genuine…it was all part of his persona or in a ludicrous attempt to work his way into sexual pleasure.

Ben, on the other hand, was virtually guileless. Mostly because he was too straightforward or blunt...it didn't mean he didn't understand diplomacy where it was warranted, but in those situations he tended to remain silent and let others determine the mood. It was relatively bold considering the repressed company he kept. Certainly, he was occasionally sarcastic, but even when he attempted nihilism..it just wasn't a good fit. Morrigan assumed that something had happened to dampen his natural good humor, but that something was a non-fatal wound. Eventually he would recover, and the moody shifts between morose pessimism and biting ironic humor would pass.

He was still staring at her as though he truly believed her to be divine… but now they stood on equal footing.

"I decided to return upon meeting…" her teeth clenched. "The guardian." Her lips pursed in distaste, and Ben arched a curious eyebrow. "Apparently, I am too antagonistic.

He snorted out a soft laugh. "That's never stopped you before." He reminded with a grin.

"Hm. True. Evidently it was too grating on Crista's nerves."

"Ah." Ben's enlightenment was only partially realized.

Crista had been… not different exactly, but certainly not the same. Had it been the trip to Denerim? Maybe. But something had crawled under her skin. It wasn't overly noticeable really. She just seemed more tense. Still, she was obviously attempting to work through _something_.

"Míriel requested that I return. I suppose that means Crista's knees no longer itch."

"Hmm?" Ben murmured curiously. "I wonder if our fearless leader is Andrastian." He mused. "I've never asked."

"If it's to be measured out on a scale, I would say she is more Andrastian than Shale or Sten, but certainly less than Alistair."

"Not a bad call." Ben said with a tiny chuckle. "I noticed there was no question as to who I was referring to…"

Morrigan raised a critical eyebrow. "No doubt we _both_ know exactly who leads our merry band." She regarded him expectantly.

"Míriel." They both said and the same time before smirking.

His eyes seemed to consider her bare shoulders. "Are you not cold?"

A tiny smirk tugged at the edge of Morrigan's mouth. She leaned just a touch closer to Ben—not an overly noticeable gesture. Just a simple nudge into his space.

"Do you intend to keep me warm?" she asked, staring up into his big brown eyes.

There was a moment of heat in those eyes, before he seemed to freeze entirely. She could practically see the wheels in his head as they turned, but their direction surprised her. The initial moment of lust sparked, followed by a stalwart slam of self-reproach. Oh, that should be something she explored in further detail when they had the time. She watched his very sizable jaw clench before he looked away, swallowing thickly. His hands rose…to the clasp on his cloak.

She held up a hand to halt his actions. The fool man intended to offer her his cloak to keep her warm when _clearly_ he required it more than she. Sweet ridiculous clod.

"Tis quite unnecessary." She said, summoning a slight barrier before conjuring flames to lick at her fingers. "I am capable of making my own warmth."

She saw his shoulders relax just a touch as he stared at her hand. A tiny smile of delight made his expression almost child-like as he stared at the flames, transfixed.

"You're so amazing." It was spoken so softly, she had a feeling even the dogs had to strain in order to hear it.

It was then she recalled Ben's behavior around magic. Now that she was actually thinking about it, she couldn't remember a single time he had regarded any magic cast by the mages in their group without fascination. Whether it had been her, or Míriel, or the crone from the circle, their abilities had always provoked the same captivated, don't-move-you-may-miss-something gaze.

"Are you truly unafraid?" Morrigan asked before she could think better of it.

His eyes darted up tp hers. "Oh, I'm terrified." He said, his face slack. She blinked at him. "Wait… what are we talking about?"

She leveled a bored glare at him. "Magic."

"Ah.." He took a deep breath, taking that time to think over his answer. "Not… really." It almost sounded as though he were questioning himself. "I mean, magic as a concept doesn't seem to be the sort of thing to fear. It's like…" his eyes scanned the ruined countryside around them. "Well, I was going to say, 'It's like being afraid of air,' but that doesn't really fit. We all breathe air, but we don't all possess magic." He shrugged. "At least not that I'm aware of." He shook his head. "It's not as if I have extensive knowledge of such things."

Nigilings of suspicious began to gnaw at Morrigan's mind. It wasn't the first time she'd stopped to wonder exactly who the people she traveled with were… but Ben continued to lay bricks in the foundations of this enigma.

"Suffice to say, No." I don't inherently fear magic or mages. It's a ludicrous template to adhere to, because magic isn't inherently good or evil. It simply is. It's no different than a skill or tool, like my bow or daggers." He shrugged again.

"And this is your stance on all magic?"

"I don't see why not."

"Even that which the chantry does not permit?"

"The Grey Wardens don't necessarily operate within the confines of the chantry." Ben reminded. A very political answer in Morrigan's opinion. "Desperate times and all that. We let Míriel's blood mage friend go free, and I've scarcely even thought about it."

Morrigan's eyes widened. "What?"

Ben blinked before freezing. His eyes snapped to her's, tinted with the barest hint of panic. "Míriel didn't tell you." It was and wasn't an inquiry.

"When did this happen?"

Ben sighed. "Back at Redcliffe." He grumbled, a touch of misery tinting his tone. He explained how they'd found Jowan, what he had done, and their allowance of his release. Or, rather, their allowance of Míriel to make the call. He even told her of Alistair's aversion to Míriel's decision.

"Fool." Morrigan determined. "As though allowing that poor boy to languish away or be executed would serve any higher purpose."

"He and Míriel have patched their fences…" he muttered with little enthusiasm. "He isn't a bad guy, he just believes as he's been taught and doesn't entertain questions on the…" Ben raised his arms to physically bracket the next words in quotations. "'Truths' that he's been taught." He shook his head "That means every knee-jerk reaction is based in dogma instead of logic."

Morrigan eyed Ben. "Were you not raised in the chantry teachings as well?"

Ben smirked. "Of course. But I've never stopped asking questions, and I find the chantry's answers are either lacking substance or unfounded." He let out another deep sigh. "My mother would be so very disappointed."

"And your father would not?"

"Only if it ever came to a point of open vexation for my mother." The mood turned somber as a very heady sense of sorrow settled over Ben.

"How long has it been since you lost them?" she asked.

Ben closed his eyes and swallowed harshly. "Months. I'm not entirely certain anymore." He took a few measured breaths. "Shortly before my recruitment to the Wardens. It's harder to tell on the move like this." He looked around them, his face wrinkling in disdain. "We've managed to cover quite a bit of ground since then."

"Is that how you came to be with the Grey Wardens? Did you kill the responsible party?" He looked at her questioningly. "Many Grey Wardens are recruited as convicts… I assumed—"

"No." He said, a strange staleness in his tone. "I haven't killed my parents' murderer." Morrigan had come to associate Ben's eyes with a certain kind of warmth. They were dark brown, but rich in hue. They were not staid as mud or so dark that his pupil was indistinguishable from their color. It was odd to see cold iron determination take them. "Not yet at any rate."

Silence prevailed for long seconds as both of them found something else to look at. Ben felt a need to divert the rage of tumultuously chaos building in his chest. If it wasn't contained it would boil his brain.. And it was unworthy to loose such fury on no purpose. He hadn't been the sort to throw tantrums, especially after his mother beat it out of him. He wasn't going to start now.

Morrigan was experiencing a completely different struggle. Offhandedly, she'd observed that his open desire for stone cold violence did nothing to decrease Ben's appeal… which forced her to admit that Ben was appealing. Which simply would not do. Not until she was certain this attraction wouldn't ruin…anything.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." Zevran murmured as he approached.

"Only companionable silence." Ben replied. "As it's a treasured rarity, I do hope this interruption is worth it."

Zevran chuckled. "Sten appears to be done praying to the beast…or over it… or …whatever he was doing." Zevran shook his head, still puzzled by the Qunari. "Also, I was wondering if we shouldn't give some thought to setting up camp. It's been a long fight to the top of this mountain. I don't know when our intrepid teammates will return, but I assume we won't be setting off immediately."

Ben nodded. "I've no desire to camp out in the open here, surrounded by rotting dragon and fragrant sulfur pits." He said. "Do you remember the caverns we came through? There was an area with live stock for the dragons… We could make use of them as supper before we leave." He murmured contemplatively.

"It would be better than letting them languish away… besides, those caverns were warm." Zevran nodded enthusiastically. Any chance to escape frigid Ferelden at it's finest.

"I believe I saw an area with naturally heated springs as well." Morrigan reminded.

"Oh, the girls will be delighted." Ben grinned. "They're going through Maker knows what for a bucket of ashes, after all." He motioned between himself and Zevran. "We can start on butchering the animals. I'll ask Sten and Bral to see if they can about finding some firewood. Morrigan, I'm putting you in charge of finding a decent place in the caverns to camp and getting a fire going. Preferably near those springs you saw, but if you find a better place, so be it."

"Oh, hurrah team." Zevran chuckled, making his way back towards the long road back into the caverns.

"Ah a moment?" Morrigan began before Ben could walk away. "What were you talking about before when I first asked if you were afraid. You said you were terrified."

"Oh. That. I was talking about you." She blinked at him and he grinned. "You've quite a hold on me, Morrigan."

Her smirk was positively feline. "Not yet. But the day is not yet over and the night is long."

He placed both hands over his heart as though he'd taken a wound. "Even if there is a Maker, I don't want to be saved."

She laughed openly at his antics even after he followed after Zevran.


	12. Agressive Debating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slice of life on the road, in which cultures...clash? Or just get bashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Wow. It's been a while, hasn't it? 
> 
> Whelp, I'm ...still working on this. Things have been pretty hectic. I'm trying to reorient my writing schedule, so... Positives are present :)
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy. It doesn't feel like much, but... :3 I really like this chapter. Because reasons.

Everything was …relatively quiet. Mostly. Well. Almost. There was always a sense of restlessness with their merry band.

The entire team had been through _such_ an ordeal, that it felt like they desperately needed to _not_ think about anything they'd been doing. Not only had they encountered fanatical cultists(then again, what other sort of cultists are there?), they'd found and slain a dragon, ventured through a frozen and long forgotten temple, and found the ashes of the Maker's Bride… if you believed all that.

The stuff about Andraste being the bride of the Maker, not …uh…anything else.

Personally, Crista Tabris was not the sort to debate the Maker's existence. If he did exist, the most the Chantry was right about was how little he interfered with anything. Whether he existed or not, you couldn't wait about on him.

Anyway.

The team was…weary. Herself included. Tomorrow, they would make for Redcliffe (again), and Arl Eamon would (hopefully) be cured.

Everything always happened beyond the edge of the campfire and past the tents….why was that? For that matter why couldn't people just content themselves around the fire?

Current state of camp:

Alistair was on cook duty—insert sarcastic 'yum' here.

Wynne was helping, so maybe it wouldn't be a total loss.

Zevran and Leliana were seated near the fire. They were near enough to each other to keep the other under surveillance, while they were far enough apart to casually go through their packs and pretend to tend to their 'tools'.

Leliana was really odd things out of a bag that Bral had given her (though Crista didn't know when the dwarf had found the time), and Zev was… really? Sharpening knives?

Ok.

Personally, she'd rather he get a few lock picking kits and practice. He needed it.

Morrigan was farthest away, just outside her own tent…she and Ben seemed to be in quite the engaging discussion. They were doing that _thing_ they did, where the rest of the camp no longer existed while they were talking. It was… cute. And sickening.

Shale was standing around… like a statue. A gargantuan statue hovering just by the tents near the campfire circle's edge. Míriel had mused, once that she often wondered if Shale's inertia was a hold over from actually being a statue, or just his inability to fathom what to do with himself.

Bral was nearest Míriel and Sten… who were the catalyst of this tension.

Crista had known that it would need seeing-to when the dogs, usually content to watch the preparation of food by the fire, had swiveled their attention in the general direction of the discussion. She heaved to her feet, ignoring the general pain in her lower back and legs and making her way towards the commotion.

"Not again." Bral was saying. "This is, what? The fifth time you're asking someone this."

"Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. They do not fight."

"Whoa, wait-wait….what? What is happening here?" Crista asked as she neared them. Sten glared at her, his impatience for their usual culture shock to his questions surfacing.

"Sten was… expressing his confusion at, ah…our gender… or Sex. Yes It's sex." Míriel informed.

Well.

Now this conversation was at the center of _everyone's_ attention.

Here they were. The rebels with a cause. The future saviors of the world (hopefully). But mention something like, oh, the word 'sex', and they were a bunch of cookie-suffed nine year-olds.

"Sten seems to believe that females cannot be fighters." Míriel finished.

Why couldn't she have started with that statement? It was so much easier to understand.

Wait…

"Well that's stupid." Crista blurted out, getting another scowl.

"Ah." Míriel was squirming to do damage control. "It seems that, under the Qun…" She paused, motioning to Sten who nodded, confirming the authenticity of this phrase, "people are appointed roles. Now, from what I gather the role of a fighter or warrior is so strictly homogenized as male, that any female who should be better suited to fighting is…no longer female. She becomes a he." Míriel again looked to Sten, who nodded in grim satisfaction.

"They are aqun-athlok. The sex of their birth is counter to their service to the Qun."

Silence descended as Crista continued to look between Sten and Míriel, waiting for more of an explanation. This couldn't be it. She felt the entire camp watching. Waiting for her reaction. Because she was going to react… as soon as she understood what the fuck was going on.

"See, the Qunari assign roles for their people, and sex is one of the biggest determining factors in how one serves the Qun." Míriel explained. "Men serve by becoming fighters in the army. Women serve largely as bureaucrats and craftsmen…" she paused, eyeing Sten contemplatively. "Though there seems to be a gray area concerning those who serve as keepers of the faith—priests and enforcers and such—"

"Simply put: Women do not fight." Sten interrupted. "If women fought, they would become men."

Another beat of silence, this one heavier.

"And Sten is expressing confusion because he sees us fighting and…our sex matches our gender and—"

Crista held up a hand.

She tried to gather her thoughts amidst the thick haze of indignation.

"Sten. I don't know how it's escaped your notice. But. We are women. And we are fighting. This logically leads to a simple conclusion. Women fight."

"Do they also walk on the moon?"

Crista looked over her shoulder. Yeah. They were all watching.

"Sten… I think what Crista means is that we don't live under the Qun." Míriel explained while Crista sighed, unholstering the heavy-ass shield strapped to her back. "No one assigns roles—at least not like that—so, people come to understand their world and themselves and try to work towards whatever role they want. I'm sure it's very—"

Crista launched forward with a powerful swing, striking Sten's upper chest and part of his face with the flat of her shield. The giant toppled back, nearly causing a dust cloud as he hit the ground.

"Maker's Teeth!" Míriel yelped.

Crista laid her shield over Sten's upper chest and sat on top of it. Right about now, he was probably feeling the steady pressure of her weight against his sternum. She knew he would barely be able to hold her up and breathe at the same time. Limited oxygen always took the fight right outta people. A resentful grunt ground through is grit teeth.

"I don't know how things are done where you're from, Sten. What's more, I don't care." Crista said with one of her overly-calm, terrifying, 'i can kill you with all these brilliant teeth' smiles. "Whichever of our societies is 'right' or 'wrong' doesn't matter either. Maybe your frail fuckin' females are weak willed enough to lie back and take whatever role they're given, but _I'm_. _Not_. _Them_."

Sten was glaring, because _of course_ he was, but he was also starting to change color He wasn't suffocating, just straining to bear up her weight.

"Since you enjoy roles so much, take what role we've given you." Crista said, rising with her shield and sauntering away casually. She took an obscene amount of satisfaction from his gasp of relief. "Soldier on. Keep your philosophical commentary to yourself. Follow. Orders. And tow my fucking line."

Míriel practically skipped past her, she was in such a flurry to help. Sten would refuse because stoicism was all about protecting his 'male' pride or ego or whatever.

Crista patted her shield, almost praising it, before re-slinging it on her back.

Current state of the camp: Alistair was focusing a little too hard on the stew…especially for that barely contained mischievous smile.

Wynne's hand rested against her chest, as though she were breathless or winded. Ha. Winded. Wynne did.

Leliana was smirking while tuning…wait, when had she gotten a lute? Did she have that in Lothering? Had she always had that? How long had Crista gone on without even knowing this lute existed?

Zevran was smirking at her. Infernal wretch that he was.

Ben was saying something like 'told you she'd sort it' to Morrigan, who was grinning in near-feral amusement at Crista.

Shale was still a statue.

Sten now stood on the opposite side of camp from Shale—a set of stoic statues the both of them.

Bral was smirking as Míriel sat next to her.

Final check, and the dogs were curled by the fire, caught between watching the stew pot and sleeping.

Yup.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...is it weird that Crista's final check essentially boils down to 'the dogs are ok, so I guess we're good'?...I mean...I guess she is Ferelden :3

**Author's Note:**

> See you next week (*crosses fingers*).


End file.
